


Broken Wings

by EmeraldStormborn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Professors, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Hermione Granger, Romance, Severus Snape Lives, a dash of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25798390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldStormborn/pseuds/EmeraldStormborn
Summary: Professor Hermione Granger deals with severe PTSD, depression, and anxiety as she tries to cope with the horrors she suffered during a second Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts.  Unexpectedly, the one person who helps her to heal is Professor Severus Snape... But is it enough?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 94
Kudos: 190





	1. Just Hold On

**Author's Note:**

> _I originally posted this to ff.net and then to AO3 in 2017. This story isn't spectacular by any means, but it helped me to overcome some very difficult things at the time of writing, and I seem to remember a couple of reviews that said it helped them, as well. If I can help even one person, then I need to repost it. Wishing healing for every broken person out there._

* * *

She wasn’t sure exactly how long she’d been in the hospital bed under Madam Pomfrey’s care. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. All she was really aware of was that one person had been by her side every time she awoke, and that person was Severus Snape.

The most terrifying parts of the second Triwizard Tournament were all she remembered of the fateful day. Dragons, escaped and flying angrily around the stadium. The Hungarian Horntail – the same fierce creature that Harry had faced years ago – had aimed his fire straight at the professors’ section, just as it had been taken down by the wranglers, and fallen on top of the wooden stands. While all the other professors had jumped away mostly unscathed, the dragon’s head and neck had fallen on her, and one of its many horns had pinned her helplessly to the ground while she burned from the fire of its breath moments before. Professor Sprout, who’d been next to her, had died instantly. 

Her first stint in a hospital bed had been at St. Mungo’s. She vaguely remembered Snape gingerly lifting her into his arms after the others had removed the dragon from her torn body, right before she blacked out completely. At St. Mungo’s, they’d performed extensive magical surgeries. Her right shoulder, where the giant horn had pierced through her flesh and pinned her to the ground, sported a slowly healing scar that would never fully go away. Her lower half, however, was the worse for wear. The scorching fire the dragon had breathed moments before it fell had left burns covering her stomach and abdomen. The burns were so horrific that even the magical healers at St. Mungo’s were shocked they could repair them at all. It was impossible to walk, and most times it felt to her as if it were impossible to even move. 

Once she was healed enough to simply need recovery time, she asked to be moved to the hospital ward at Hogwarts. It was her home, and she wanted to be out of the dreariness of St. Mungo’s. 

To her bewilderment, Snape had shown up to help transfer her safely back to the castle. And ever since, he’d been visiting her, though the majority of the time she saw him was in the rare moments that she was awake and aware. It was often that she would awake in a panic from one of her many nightmares about the incident, and each time, Snape was there to calm her. She would always go back to sleep almost instantly, not willing to spend any more time awake than necessary.

Her situation had sucked every bit of light from her spirit. She had allowed herself to wallow in depression and self-pity for weeks on end, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and forget the memories, sleep away the anxiety of wondering what her future would be like, if she’d ever walk again or be able to have children. Dreadful, horrific things had occurred during the war with Voldemort, leaving her mentally scarred; but even in that dark time, she hadn’t experienced such physical trauma as she had that fateful day of the Triwizard Tournament. She’d never felt so completely broken.

“I’m tired,” she informed Snape, interrupting him from his upteenth attempt at persuading her to stay awake and be active. She closed her eyes to finalize her statement. “We can discuss this more tomorrow.”

Snape closed the book he’d been about to read to her and set it down on the stand next to her. “You can’t possibly be tired,” he said carefully. “You sleep constantly. Your mind needs stimulation.”

She sighed. “I don’t want stimulation. I want to go back to sleep.”

She waited for an acerbic reply from him, but when she heard none she opened her eyes. The chair beside her bed was empty.

“It’s better this way,” she whispered to herself, and closed her eyes once more.

* * *

She wasn’t sure what exactly she’d envisioned for her future, but it certainly had made sense for her to become a professor. As much as she loved the learning environment, and being, admittedly, a know-it-all, there seemed to be no better place for her than Hogwarts. After the war was over, and she’d gone back to finish her seventh year, she’d studied intensely at the finest wizarding university in all of Europe. But nothing had ever felt more like home than Hogwarts. When Minerva McGonagall had reached out to her upon her graduation and offered her the job of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, she’d eagerly accepted. 

She was highly regarded among the staff, who had fond memories of her from years before. The only staff member who had been hard to get on with was, of course, Professor Snape, but it was difficult for everyone. She didn’t fear him as she had growing up, and certainly had a newfound respect for him after the war. He was a hero, plain and simple. He knew much about hospital stays; Nagini’s bites, which should have killed him, had caused him to stay in St. Mungo’s for several weeks. He had sacrificed so much while everyone had hated him so fiercely. All attitudes had changed in his favor after Voldemort’s defeat and truth of his loyalty and heroism had been revealed.

The first two years during her tenure as professor, all she’d ever received from Snape was a scowl. Determined not to let him sully her new and improved view of him, she was endlessly sweet to him; greeting him as she did everyone else at the Head Table before meals, offering him coffee at staff meetings, inviting him to Hogsmeade outings. He rebuffed her at every turn but she remained undeterred. 

Then one night they’d stumbled upon each other in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library. He had thought a student had snuck in, and she’d been studying a book about omens. He’d sneered at her, but had asked her about her reading material. Soon enough, they were sitting side by side peering through the book together, discussing the different omens and their meanings. When she’d told him the reason – that one Ronald Weasley swore an evil vulture was following him – she had seen Snape laugh for the first time. Truth be told, it had awoken something warm inside of her. But she’d quashed it quickly.

After that, Snape seemed to grudgingly acknowledge her. When she greeted him, he nodded to her. When she offered him coffee, he would take it. He even accompanied the staff on a couple of the outings to Hogsmeade, sitting between Hermione and Minerva at the Three Broomsticks and silently enjoying his Firewhisky. This behavior had encouraged her to approach him more often, and several times she had welcomed him into her classroom as a guest speaker, or invited him to discuss a new publication with her. They’d formed a tentative friendship – as much as one could be friends with the snarky Potions Master. And now the only person who seemed to be interested in her recovery was a man who was a hesitant friend.

Where was Harry? Where was Ron? Ginny? They led busy lives, of course, but they had only come to see her at the hospital wing twice in the three weeks she had been there. 

Better to stay asleep. Besides the nightmares, sleep was peaceful and calming.

* * *

She awoke screaming, feeling blazing flames engulfing her lower half. Flailing mindlessly on the bed, she howled in pain.

Two strong hands clasped around her upper arms and held her still, as a deep voice spoke gently to her. “Hermione,” Snape said. “It’s all right.”

It took her endless moments to snap out of it, to understand she had been suffering from more nightmares. Only they weren’t nightmares, not really; nightmares implied that the events stayed solely in the dream realm and couldn’t hurt her. But each night she was reliving the horror she had faced, burning from the inside out, struggling to claw her way out of the past. 

“It’s not right at all,” she finally replied, brokenly, as she reached down to cover her abdomen with her hands. She could feel the prominent scars through the thin nightgown covering her skin. She didn’t feel scarred - she felt as if she were branded, branded by a terror that would never end. “It’ll never be all right.”

“Hush,” Snape commanded, but his tone was light. “Drink this.” He tipped a vial to her mouth, which she resisted. His hand brushed over her hair, and he lifted her head as he titled the vial. “It will soothe you. Drink.”

She accepted the liquid, too weak to fight him. She licked her lips and shifted her legs slightly, wishing she could move more, but at the same time not wanting to ever move. Feeling helpless and hopeless at the same time wasn’t an ideal combination. “When will the nightmares stop?” she whispered, seeking his eyes in the dark. 

“Give it time,” he told her, his hand still on her head. As if realizing this, he retreated from her side and returned to the chair next to the bed. “They will cease, but it will take time.” His voice hinted that he knew all too well that such things took time.

A tear rolled down Hermione’s cheek. “This life is a nightmare… it will never stop.”

Snape remained silent. 


	2. To Each Other's Hands

* * *

“Severus, I forbid this. She needs her rest.” Madam Pomfrey’s voice was firm, unwavering.

“I will not sit by and watch her waste away in a hospital bed! She is losing herself,” he warned, his voice hard. 

“Surely, Poppy, just a stroll around the grounds wouldn’t overtax her?” Minerva appealed to the nurse. 

Hermione blinked her eyes open and turned her head slowly to see the headmistress, Madam Pomfrey, and Snape standing in a circle near her bed. Her brows furrowed. Couldn’t everyone just leave her alone?

“What is going on?” she asked, voice cracking. 

“There’s been enough of this,” Severus informed her in a growl. He came to her side, and pulled back the sheets she was nestled under. Gingerly, he placed his hands under her body and lifted her from the bed. 

She didn’t fight, knowing she didn’t have the strength to do so. She simply watched him with wide eyes.

“If she suffers a setback, I shall hold you responsible,” Madam Pomfrey warned him, her eyes narrowed angrily.

Snape didn’t reply, but instead focused on lowering Hermione carefully into the wheelchair he’d procured. He covered her lower half with a white blanket, and began to slowly roll her forward.

“What, exactly, do you think you’re doing?” Hermione questioned as they made their way down the halls. She was embarrassed, and irritated, and certainly too tired for this. 

“You need fresh air,” he groused. 

“What I need is to go back to bed,” she told him. “Please take me back.” She opted for civility, even though she wanted to shout at him. He was the one steering her, however, so she thought it best to be pleasant.

“You’ve become increasingly insufferable,” Snape informed her curtly. “Perhaps the sunlight will improve your mood.”

“You’re one to speak to me about moods, you great overbearing bat,” she replied testily, quickly forgetting her diplomatic attitude. “How dare you.”

He eased her chair out onto one of the many walking paths around the castle, grateful that it was summer and there were no curious students watching them.

“It seems I’m the only one who dares,” he commented. 

Hermione’s eyes filled with tears, but she fought them back. He was right. She had been all alone, save for him. No one else was making an effort. Did she secretly wish for this? For someone to give a damn, and try to pull her out of the overbearing depression she’d succumbed to? No, of course not. She wanted to wallow. For as long as she felt like it, she wanted to wallow.

“Take me back this instant!” she yelled, stomping against the foot rest.

Snape ignored her. He continued down the path as she muttered curses at him, until they came to the edge of the lake, shaded by large, lush trees. 

“This will do nicely,” he announced. He procured a thick blanket and stretched it out across the ground. Scooping her up, he set her down with her back against a tree trunk, and covered her again with the blanket from the ward. Then he began placing several books all around her.

Hermione stared at them through narrowed eyes. They were the books she used to teach in her Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, with a couple thrown in she could only guess were recommendations from him. 

“The students will return in three weeks,” he told her, settling down across from her with his own collection of books. “You need to begin gathering your lesson plans.”

She gaped at him. The nerve of Severus Snape! She glared daggers at him until she realized he was better at ignoring her than she was at being indignant with him. Grudgingly she dragged “Boggarts and Their Weaknesses” toward her and opened the book.

“You could at least provide tea,” she mumbled sourly.

She saw him smirk, and then he waved his wand.

“Thanks,” she muttered. Typical that the one person who could stand to be around her right now was the one person who could outmatch her obstinance. 

* * *

After two weeks of Snape practically dragging her out by the lake, Hermione began to look forward to it. The sun felt good on her skin, and the company was surprisingly enjoyable. They had fallen into an easy routine of preparing for the coming school year together in the afternoon after a morning walk and lunch. He was slowly helping her recover her mobility in her lower half, as well as her mind. He had been patient, even kind, something she’d never expected from him. Each day she itched to question him, to openly ask him why he had taken her on, but she couldn’t bear the thought of somehow turning him away with a deep, serious discussion. Their casual, light banter had balanced out the awkwardness of their situation - her dark abyss of depression she’d indulged in, and he taking care of her with such dedication. 

Hermione looked up from her book and tilted her head to the side. “I think I’d like for the students to have a visit from a true hero on the first day of class. Will you stop in?” she asked Snape, gazing at the water. She remembered Viktor Krum pulling her up from the bottom of the lake during the first Triwizard Tournament she’d experienced, both of them gasping as they swam to the docks. 

But her thoughts soon turned to the most recent Triwizard Tournament, and it was as if she could feel the fire on her lower half all over again…. Burning…. Scorching her flesh… The horrific pain, the terror as a giant horn pinned her lower half to the cold, hard ground… Someone was screaming, a blood-curdling scream that made her ears sting.

“Hermione!” Snape bellowed.

She snapped out of the awful memory, her throat raw. 

“Sorry,” she muttered pitifully, looking down at her folded hands in her lap that had turned white from grasping tightly onto one another. She could feel her face turning red in embarrassment.

He had moved forward, on one knee in front of her, his hands on her upper shoulders. Once certain she had come fully to, he eased back. He reached inside his robes, but paused at her words.

“Please don’t,” she said softly, eyes seeking his. “I can’t keep relying on your potions for comfort.” 

He arched a dark brow. “Hermione, there is no shame in using these to help you recover. You’ve suffered a great deal.”

She shook her head. “I need to get past this.” Tears filled her eyes and she looked away from him. “I’m not strong enough.”

He grabbed her chin firmly and forced her to meet his gaze. “Do not be foolish. Summon that infernal Gryffindor courage and that razor-sharp intelligence and realize that you are making progress and will continue to.” He held the vial in front of her. “With help.”

She sighed and wiggled her chin free of his grasp, and then reached up to accept the vial. Swiftly taking a sip, she handed it back to him with a glower.

“There she is,” he murmured with a smirk. 

Hermione pictured herself leaning forward and running her lips across his. He was always so close, and yet he seemed so far away. Her savior, her determined guide through the darkness. She had a very real feeling that he knew so much about leading her out of it because he’d walked through it himself many a time. All that she had suffered paled in comparison to his hardships; it made her suddenly feel selfish. If he could live on through it all, so could she. 


	3. Take These Broken Wings

* * *

“I’m sorry, Professor Granger,” Madam Pomfrey conveyed, in her usual prim and proper way. “The scars will remain. Not even a powerful charm from the best magical beauticians will be able to take them away.”

Hermione shrugged as she sat on the edge of the hospital bed. It was news that she had expected, but it still sent a pang of sadness through her.

“But you seem fully healed,” Madam Pomfrey stated with a small smile. “Just in time for the start of term.”

“I appreciate your patience with me during my healing,” Hermione told her gratefully. 

“You never once tested my patience, girl. It was Severus who tried me the most.” 

Hermione felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m sorry for that,” she said softly. “He’s such an obstinate man.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Madam Pomfrey replied.

Hermione looked up as the obstinate man in question entered the ward. He approached with his usual foreboding frown.

“Are you ready?” he asked, brow raised. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Hermione took a deep breath. “I am.” Slowly, gingerly, she rose from the side of the bed, bracing her arms on it to keep herself steady.

“I’ll get the chair,” Snape said; but before he could turn away, Hermione stopped him.

“No,” she said firmly. “I want to do this. Just…. Help me.” She reached out for him, not caring how uncomfortable it made him, and took his arm. He didn’t say a word, but held her elbow and guided her along.

It took them several long minutes to reach her chambers, which embarrassed her greatly. She thanked him after he helped her to her room, and attempted to extricate herself from him.

“What are you doing?” he asked warily, as she hesitantly made her way to her bathroom.

“I want to shower,” she told him. “It will be my first time without help. I need this.”

He eyed her as if he didn’t trust her to be able to do it without help. “Do you want me to stay?”

A look of outrage crossed her features. “No! Of course not. That would be inappropriate. I’ll be just fine.” She closed the bathroom door behind her, and he heard the shower spring on. 

He debated with himself, but finally chose to stay. A few minutes later, he was glad he had, because he heard a thump in the bathroom followed by her pained cry. He rushed through the door to find her draped haphazardly over the tub edge, tears running down her cheeks. He was momentarily halted by the sight of her naked body, but concern for her moved him forward despite the awkward situation.

“Get out,” she told him weakly through sobs.

He ignored her and turned off the water, then reached behind him for her fluffy robe he’d seen hanging on the hook behind the door. Reaching down, he lifted her gently from the shower, and leaned her against him while he wrapped the robe around her shivering body. He spotted the monstrous scars on her abdomen and resisted a flinch. 

After securing the robe around her, he lifted her once more into his arms and stalked toward the bedroom, where he laid her on her bed.

“Drink this,” he commanded her, pulling a vial out from inside his robes. “It’ll help with the pain.”

Hermione eyed him through her tears and wrapped her hand around the vial. “Always drugging me,” she murmured. She sipped the liquid from the small bottle and handed it back to him. “I’m waiting for you to say ‘I told you so.’”

Snape furrowed his brows. “In any other circumstance, that’s exactly what I would be saying. But I’m not going to be cruel right now.”

“It’s a miracle,” she replied dryly, and reached up to wipe away her tears. “I lifted my arms to wash my hair and it just hurt so badly,” she admitted balefully. “The scars, they feel… tight. I don’t know. Like they’re going to rip at any moment.”

Snape cocked his head to the side. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can brew a salve for that. Something I learned long ago. It will aid in loosening the pressure the scar tissue creates.” 

“What would I do without you?” she asked him, and though her voice was light and almost playful, she gazed at him seriously. He had been there for her. Why had he been there for her? No one else had bothered. But Snape had been there, every step of the way. She ached to reach out, to touch him and warm him physically the way he had warmed her mentally. But she was positive her growing attraction was one-sided. And he had surely just seen the horrific scarring across her body. No man could stomach that. She could hardly even look at herself without feeling ill.

The moment was heavy, her question still hanging in the air between them. He made the first move, clearing his throat, taking the now-empty vial from her hands, and raising slightly as if to go.

“Severus,” she started, her hand curling over his wrist.

He halted his movement, and glanced back at her. There was an indiscernible expression across his features, but his voice was soothing as he told her, “I will not leave you. At least, not until the potion has helped you to sleep. Rest now.” He slid from her grasp and seated himself in the plush chair at her beside.

It was a pitying look, she decided. That was what his expression had been. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted to be the woman she had been before the incident. The woman who had coaxed the brooding, aloof Severus Snape from his dungeons to engage in brainy exchanges with a respected colleague. With a deep sigh, she realized she would most likely never have that relationship with him again. She had shown herself to be a weak, pathetic excuse for a witch. She’d burdened him with her problems. He probably cursed the day he ever became her friend.

She closed her eyes and tried to tune out the dark thoughts. They’d had her mind most of the day. It was time to turn them off.

* * *

Severus steepled his fingers and pressed them together tightly as he watched Hermione’s breathing slow. She was ever-difficult, and it was becoming harder for him to know how to help her further assist in her recovery. Just when he was sure she was breaking through the chaos swimming in her mind, she pulled away, letting the darkness claw its way back to control within her. He knew the feeling all too well, but he was determined to not let her drown in it as he always had.

The persistent witch had wormed her way into his life from the moment she’d arrived to teach at Hogwarts. He was well aware that she had aided in saving him from Nagini’s venom; it had predisposed him to being civil with her and entertaining her attempts to gain his favor. It bemused him that she would even seek him out, until he realized that he was the only one with which she could have an equally intelligent conversation or debate. It had surprised him, how pleasant it was to converse with her. They had actually built a tentative friendship.

And then the Triwizard Tournament had occured.

Damned if he was going to watch her wither away into the dark, angry, hopeless vessel he had been for so long. No, she would find herself again - he would allow no other outcome.

But to do so, he needed to know where she was, mentally. And he knew of only one way to do that, without all of the emotional obstacles of a serious talk between them. He didn’t wish to invade her mind, but he excused it with the sure feeling that he was doing what must be done to help her.

“ _Legilimens_ ,” he whispered, and he was spiraling quickly throughout her mind. The flames from the dragon felt hot on his skin, as if he were truly there. The horror she had felt, continuously since that day, filled him. Her shame and embarrassment at her inability to break free of the darkness within her. Her constant helpless, hopeless feelings of never progressing to full healing. 

And then… something more. Something that shocked him, though she had hinted and he’d overlooked it. 

Images of him before her; of her hands curling into his hair, of her mouth meeting his in a soft, then passionate kiss. Of her hands running over his body, encouraging his ministrations, and then - her broken sobs as he pulled away in disgust from touching and seeing her scars. 

He shook free of the spell and sat in the chair staring at her now-restless form on the bed. Here he had been, devoted wholly to her recovery, more understanding than anyone about her suffering… and she thought so little of him; that he would drop her because of a few cosmetic imperfections?

His blood heated. “Foolish girl,” he sneered at her listless form. Her insecurity and relentless self-doubt would not deter him. _In fact_ , he thought with a wicked arch of his brow, _he would need to up his game_.


	4. Learn To Fly Again

* * *

“That one’s going to be trouble,” Hermione told Snape under her breath, leaning toward him. 

“No doubt,” Snape murmured in response, brow arching as a boy with a puffed-up chest swaggered from the Sorting Hat stool to the Slytherin table. 

“I’ll enjoy docking points from your house this year.” She took her mug and sipped at her pumpkin juice, using it as a way to cover her wicked smirk.

He slashed a foreboding look at her. “Professor Granger, your threats lack conviction.” 

McGonagall cleared her throat and shot them a look of displeasure. “Enough, the both of you. Pay attention.”

“Apologies, Headmistress,” Hermione replied instantly, her voice properly contrite. She nudged Snape’s foot under the table, and he nodded his agreement to her statement.

They watched as child after child was sorted, and then McGonagall arose to give the welcoming message.

“We are delighted for our new students to be sorted into their respective houses,” McGonagall began. “After the abysmal events at the end of last year, we are looking forward to beginning anew.”

Hermione froze, her body rigid. Snape did not turn his head. Cursing inwardly at Minerva’s decision to bring up the incident and bring Hermione’s memories surging back, he reached for her underneath the table, his hand covering her forearm and squeezing. It was not in him to comfort, but he had grown rather skilled at it during his care of her. He had realized, without pointing it out to her, that he was her lifeline; she had grown to rely on him. Not as if she were not her own, independent woman - because she was and always would be a fierce Gryffindor lioness - but as if he were her partner. They had, he thought with a dry laugh, become extremely close friends. And he was enjoying it, being needed. Curse his selfishness, but he ached for her to need him. 

He could feel her struggling to draw in ragged breaths, trying to maintain composure and focus on her present setting, rather than imagining that she was pinned beneath a dragon. She let out a soft gasp, and suddenly her hand was wrapping tightly around his.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his fingers curling around hers. His eyes scanned the students, but all were focused on McGonagall as her speech continued. He squeezed Hermione’s hand as he felt her pounding heartbeat calm, and gently extricated his hand from hers. 

“And now - dessert!” McGonagall concluded, hands clapping twice. The Great Hall filled with delicious scents, and the eager children reached out excitedly.

Hermione sat up straighter in her seat and cleared her throat. “Thank you,” she said softly, not looking at him.

He lifted his spoon. “Always,” he replied, then froze. _What_ had he just said to Hermione Granger? And what did it mean was going on inside of him. He shook it off uncomfortably and looked up to see the same boy Hermione had pointed out earlier preparing to fling a scoop of pudding at a small girl behind him. 

Lifting his wand, he swished and the pudding flew from the spoon up into the air and down onto the boy’s face. The children around him began to laugh, and the boy began laughing too. He was too young and too fresh to have the pride of the older Slytherins. 

Snape heard a soft laugh from beside him, and as his eyes met Hermione’s, his breath caught. There was no sign of the trauma she’d felt minutes ago. She was looking up from beneath her lashes at him, biting her lower lip. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. 

“I told you so,” she informed him. 

A smile toyed at his lips. “So you did.”

“Next time, I ought to bet a few sickles on it.” She picked up her spoon. “Then you’ll be losing House Points _and_ your pocket change.”

He pursed his lips. “You have an incredible gift of trying my patience at every turn,” he informed her curtly. “Why do I put up with you?”

Their gazes held and for a moment he wondered with trepidation if his jest had hurt her feelings; but no, he realized swiftly. She was eyeing him with almost hooded eyes, causing heat to spread throughout his body. Their attraction was palpable, and their toying had reached its height within the past week as he’d intentionally set to clueing her in on his want of her, and coaxing from her the mutual feeling she had for him.

“Between the two of you, I have a dreadful feeling these hourglasses will not hold up,” McGonagall said, breaking their moment as she referred to the House Points counter. “I would appreciate it if you kept yourselves in check and acted with decorum.” Her voice was stern.

“Minerva, we shall endeavor to keep our feud contained,” Snape promised her in an overly sincere tone, causing Hermione to throw her head back and laugh. Snape’s head snapped around to stare at her, and even McGonagall was gaping at her. 

She was coming back to them. Bit by bit, Hermione was overcoming.

* * *

“Are you ready for this?” Snape asked her, as they stood outside her chamber door.

She leaned back and sighed, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I think I am,” she told him. She looked up at him from beneath her lashes again, something he seemed to enjoy watching her do, if the way his eyes heated was any indication. 

“I know you are,” he stated confidently. He reached out and traced the same lock of hair she’d pushed behind her ear. “You’ve done remarkably well.” 

She flushed at his compliment. “It’s because of you, Severus. You were there for me, when no one else was. You… you brought me back.” She stared up at him, her eyes boring into his. “I can never begin to thank you enough.” She lifted her hand tentatively, not wanting to scare him away, and stroked his cheek before resting her hand on his shoulder. “But… I can try?” Standing on her tiptoes, she brushed a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. With a sweet smile, she turned and turned the handle to her chamber.

“Not so fast,” he growled, and spun her around to face him. His mouth descended on hers hungrily, his hands squeezing around her upper arms. 

A soft moan escaped her. _Finally,_ she thought. Finally, she was kissing him, this man who had done so much for her. This man who’d become her best friend and the one whom she’d craved and feared she’d lost after the incident. 

Her hands tangled in his hair and she pressed herself against him, ecstatic to feel the evidence of his reciprocated feelings against her hip. A shiver ran through her body.

His mouth moved down her jaw to her neck, and her head fell back against her door. Her eyes fluttered as his surprisingly soft lips pressed to the delicate skin of her throat. It was everything she had dreamed of, and more. His hard body against hers, his hot breath scorching her. 

“I don’t want to rush this,” he murmured against her shoulder, his hands massaging her waist.

“Then don’t,” she whispered, cupping his face and bringing his lips to hers.

He broke from her, his hands going back to her upper arms to hold her at arm’s length. “Tomorrow is the first day. We need to hold off.” He sounded reluctant, but decisive.

She stared at him in disbelief. “Severus Snape, are you turning me down?” her voice was mock-petulant as her hands went to her hips.

“I’m hard as a bloody rock, witch,” he growled. “I will have you.” His words brooked no argument.

“I need you.” She ran her hands up his chest. “Will you just stay, until I fall asleep?” Her eyes held a wicked gleam. 

Ignoring his better judgment, he moved forward and wrapped her in his arms. “Methinks there’s a bit of Slytherin in you, woman.” 

Her hands encircled his waist, and her hands slid down to clutch his arse. “Mmm…” she hummed as she stretched to press kisses to his throat. “There will be.”

A dark laugh escaped him as he pressed forward, reaching behind her to open the door to her chambers. “It’s going to be more than ‘a bit’,” he promised silkily. 

And then, the teasing ended as the door clicked and locked behind them.


	5. Learn To Live So Free

* * *

“It really is comical, you must admit. How does one make such an error? Toadstool and gallstone? Really?” Hermione laughed, and even Snape smirked. She continued on, wanting to see his smile again. “It’s horrendous, I don’t know why they would ask you to edit it.” She set the manuscript down on the table and crossed her legs. Her robes split just slightly, enough to draw his attention.

“Perhaps you would consider taking pity on an old Potions Master and editing it for him?” he suggested silkily.

“Old, my arse,” Hermione countered, and sipped at her tea. She pretended not to notice that his gaze was lingering on her thighs where her robes had parted. “This is all you. My students have returned their first assignments, so I am overloaded already.”

“If that’s true,” Snape replied, his low voice sending a delicious sliver down her spine, “Why are you wasting time here?” They both knew the reason, but he enjoyed making her squirm. And squirm she did, as she sat across from him on the lab stool. 

A knowing smirk on her face, she rose slightly to lean across the table and present her lips to his.

“Her….Hermione?” a hesitant, surprised voice called from the doorway of the dungeons, and they both turned to see who had joined them.

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, and rose from her seat. She rushed up to her friend and put her arms out to embrace him. “You should have told me you were coming. I would’ve met you at the Apparition Point.”

Harry glanced warily behind her at Snape. “What are you doing down here in the dungeons? It’s a beautiful day outside.”

Hermione frowned and crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling defensive. Harry had barely sent an owl to her during her recovery, and _he_ was questioning _her_ activities? “Severus and I were just having a cuppa.”

She understood that after years of mutual hate, the two would not suddenly be friendly. Though the war had revealed Snape to be a true hero, he and Harry still did not have warm feelings for each other. After the war, Harry had been key in helping Snape get clear of his charges and reputation; there was certainly a hint of respect for one another, but old habits died hard and disdain remained, however much diminished. Men were funny like that, she concluded. Pride and testosterone were not exactly a winning combination.

“I don’t want to interrupt you,” Harry said carefully, his tone implying his displeasure at having seen her interaction with Snape.

“By all means, Mr. Potter,” Snape called from his place at his desk. “We were done.” 

Hermione turned to stare at him with a frown, but he was ignoring her, already with his nose in the book he needed to edit. She hated when he did that; cut himself off completely. There had been no contempt in his voice, but a kind of weary defeat. 

Her heart told her she needed to go to him, but her mind was pulling her toward her old friend and settling the matter of his absence in her time of need. With a last glance at Snape, she sighed and led Harry out.

“What is going on between you two?” Harry asked her point blank, as they made their way toward the Great Hall. “Relaxing and having a cup of tea in the dungeons with the greasy git?” He shot her a calculating look. “And I can’t imagine why you were leaning toward him with your lips puckered.”

Hermione sighed with frustration. “Between the two of you, I shall go mad,” she mumbled. “He’s my friend, Harry. He really helped me through everything that happened at the end of last year.” She stopped and said softly, “In fact, he was really the only one who helped me.”

Harry’s eyes bulged briefly, but then he looked down at his feet with shame. “I’m sorry, Hermione. Things got away from me so quickly. The Ministry had me and Ron on mission after mission, and Ginny had just made the Harpies… And I’ve said I’m sorry, and I am. We all are. We should have been there for you. And despite my distaste for the man, I’m glad Snape was there for you. But that doesn’t constitute becoming best friends with him. When I met with McGonagall earlier she mentioned offhand that you had grown close to Snape, but when I saw you in there with him, laughing - _flirting!_ \- I was shocked. This man terrorized us when we were children, Hermione.”

“He was different then,” Hermione replied quickly. They’d had this talk before, but it wasn’t really registering with her friends. “We get along very well. You can’t begin to imagine all he has done for me, Harry.”

Harry shook his head, perturbed, and continued walking. Hermione followed him in silence. She wondered what he would think if he knew that she had fallen in love with Severus Snape.

* * *

“Several of us are going to Hogsmeade later this evening,” Hermione announced to Snape at dinner. “Do you want to come?” She was seated in her usual place on the other side of Snape, while he always sat next to McGonagall; Harry was specially seated on the opposite side of the Headmistress for the evening. The students were utterly enamored of him; nearly all eyes were on the Head Table throughout dinner.

Snape didn’t look at her, but simply continued eating his meal. “I thought you had hall duty tonight,” he said to her in between bites.

“I switched with Filius,” Hermione replied matter-of-factly. “Severus, come with us.” She was not appreciating his aloof attitude toward her.

He wiped the corners of his mouth before staring condescendingly at her. “I have no desire to mingle with the Boy Who Lived and his obsessed fans.”

Her breath hitched painfully in her throat. He hadn’t looked at her like that or spoken to her like that in a very long time; whereas before, that was the only Snape she had ever known, now it was so completely foreign to her that she was stunned. 

She stared at him for a long moment before saying, “You are such a git.”

Snape raised a brow and didn’t miss a beat as he replied, “And you are insufferable.”

She rolled her eyes and stabbed at her vegetables. He was the most frustrating man she had ever met. Would it really be such an inconvenience for him to come with them? He had been attending their Hogsmeade outings for a long time; it was only because Harry was there that he was being stubborn, and plainly, rude.

“Grelodden is going to be there,” she thought to tell him suddenly. Henry Grelodden was the so-called Potions Expert at the Ministry of Magic, a role they had added only recently. He’d been a senior at university when she’d been an incoming freshman, and they had dated for a year. With his fancy new position, he had been quite eager to be single in London. Snape had never liked Grelodden’s published works, and when Hermione had revealed her past with him, Snape seemed to dislike him even more. 

Snape grumbled. “What is that bloody fool doing here?”

Hermione inwardly smiled, knowing she had just convinced him to go to Hogsmeade. “Apparently he and Harry are teaming up for a Ministry mission; Harry had to stop here at Hogwarts for some information. Grelodden is waiting back in Hogsmeade. They leave first thing in the morning.”

Snape grunted. “Firewhisky’s on you.” 

Hermione grinned. “Absolutely.”


	6. Hear The Voices Sing

* * *

“Well, well, well,” Grelodden purred as Hermione entered the Three Broomsticks, trailing behind the others. “What have we here?”

Hermione raised a brow and slid in next to him at the booth. “Hello, Henry.”

“Hello indeed,” he said, eyes still raking her in. “And here I thought you’d look entirely unattractive after your incident with the Horntail.”

She winced, but was relieved when his words did not trigger a post-traumatic episode. She was sure he had not been giving her a compliment. He was as slimy as ever. She was unsure what she had ever seen in him. He had perfectly coiffed dark brown hair, bright green eyes, and a charming smile; his illusion faded when he opened his mouth, however. During their time together, she had endeavored to keep his mouth firmly shut. He might not know what to do with his mouth but, being a “Potions Expert” as the Ministry called him, he certainly knew how to use his hands. Theirs had been a physical relationship more than anything, and at the time, it had suited her. Her studies had been of far more importance to her than emotional attachments.

“Ah, Snape.” Grelodden smiled evilly at him. “Always a pleasure to see the man who so harshly criticizes your every work.”

Snape sneered back. “Make use of your brain while writing, and I might not have to send a letter to the editor every week about your horrendous publications.”

Hermione hid a smile and scooted over as Snape climbed in next to her. 

“Now gentlemen,” McGonagall interrupted, settling into the other side of the booth. “Let’s be civil, shall we? Harry, we are so very glad to visit with you.”

Snape snorted and Hermione elbowed him discreetly in the ribs. They ordered their drinks, and Hermione instructed the server to leave her tab open. It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

“So there I was,” Grelodden was practically shouting with mirth, “In the middle of Diagon Alley, with no idea how I’d gotten there!” The whole table erupted in laughter, save for Snape who looked bored, and Hermione who was busy drinking her life away. It was the only way she could stand to sit next to her former lover, and the man she loved on the other side. 

“I’ll tell you how,” Snape replied finally, as the laughter died down, “You’re an imbecile who doesn’t know a thing about brewing potions properly.”

Everyone stared at him with wide eyes, and just as Grelodden began to sputter indignantly, Hermione’s head popped up and she said to Snape, “Let’s go to the bar, I should close my tab.”

Snape reluctantly stood from the table, and waited for Hermione to climb out, before walking with her over to the bar.

“I don’t really want to close my tab,” she said, her speech somewhat slurred, “But I wanted to get away before the two of you traded blows over my head.” Her grip on the edge of the bar slipped and she teetered toward him. He swiftly caught her waist and held her aright.

“I wouldn’t deign to brawl with him,” Snape replied lazily. “But perhaps it’s time to cut you off.”

Hermione glared at him. “I’m getting another drink, so help me…”

“Look, you insufferable chit, I had to carry you around before and I’m not doing it again.” His words were actually playful, but they surprisingly stung. She didn’t like being reminded of her terrible recovery or how weak she’d been. The emotional reaction was likely heightened by the amount of alcohol she had imbibed, but reason wasn’t within her grasp at the moment.

Turning on her heel, she began to prance off, but Snape caught her upper arm and pulled her back.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he told her in a low voice, not used to having to apologize to anyone, but hating the look he’d seen cross her features.

She considered him for a moment with narrowed eyes. “Really? Prove it.”

He frowned at her. “Are you daft? Prove it how?”

She grinned at him. “Dance with me.”

He stared. “Excuse me?”

She took his hand and began pulling him to the open floor space where several others were dancing to the slow, twinkling song. 

“I don’t dance,” he protested as he tried to dig in his heels.

“You will,” she replied curtly, and turned to him. She slid her arms around his neck and pressed her body to his, and he began to instinctively sway. His hands rested low on her hips, and he steeled himself, forcing his hands to stay there and travel no lower. 

“We may as well announce our mutual desire to the entire wizarding community,” he grumbled against her temple, but between her body against his and the Firewhisky in his blood, he didn’t feel as outraged as he probably should have. Her head fit snugly beneath his. She was nuzzling his throat, though her arms encircling his neck hid the action quite well. He didn’t dare look to their table to see if anyone had noticed them. 

Hermione hummed against his Adam’s apple, her fingers toying with the ends of his hair at his nape. “Is that all this is, Severus?” she murmured. “Mutual desire?”

Her ministrations had him at full attention. He shifted as another song began that was even slower, inserting a knee between her legs for fuller body contact. He could feel her melt into him, and it affected him in a way he couldn’t explain. Everything felt right when she was against him. 

Lips brushing against her ear, his voice was velvet as he said, “It’s certainly the most prominent right now.”

He heard footsteps approaching, and Snape pulled back from Hermione to see Grelodden in front of them.

“Ah,” he leered, “I remember when I couldn’t take my hands off the witch, either. Bloody good ride that was.”

Snape’s nostrils flared in fury. “Leave. Now.”

Hermione drunkenly appraised Grelodden. “I’ve had better,” she finally retorted.

Grelodden’s face twisted. “Is that right? From what: this greasy git, or the Hungarian Horntail?”

Hermione gasped, both from the pain that seared her at the nasty words and from the sudden bereft feeling as Snape let go of her and charged forward. In that startled, panicked moment, images flew before her. The scar on her shoulder, near her clavicle, felt fresh; as if the emergency medi-wizards had only just removed the horn pinning her to the cold ground. The cold, against her back, as her lower half burned from the just-breathed, angry flames of a dying dragon. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t find the present. She gasped, over and over, struggling to claw at reality, to escape from the darkness consuming her. 

She crumpled into a heap, there on the floor of the Three Broomsticks, drowning, drowning in the bleak abyss of her traumatic memories… All went black.


	7. The Book of Love

* * *

Snape was brushing the hair from her clammy forehead when Hermione’s eyes fluttered open. He was alone with her, the others near the door whispering quietly. He had hoped to never again see her in the infirmary, hoped to never again hear Madam Pomfrey urging him to step back from her patient. He had hoped to never again witness that powerless look upon Hermione’s confused face as she lay in a hospital bed. But he knew, all too well - especially when purposefully triggered - that it was a long road to recovery. That, most of the time, full recovery was never attained. It was simply about becoming more skilled in the handling of the emotional baggage that remained. There would be good days and there would be bad days. He knew of it personally; and contrary to his own experience, he wanted Hermione to have more good days than bad.

He could have hexed that bastard Grelodden into next semester for the way he had treated Hermione, and would have. But breaking her fall had been more important to him than winning a pissing contest with that pathetic dunderhead. He had warned the imbecile as he scooped Hermione’s unconscious body into his arms that if he ever laid eyes on him again, he _would_ follow through with hexing him.

“Hi,” Hermione said, blinking up at him.

He couldn’t help the smirk that tilted the corners of his mouth. When she gazed up at him so sweetly, it did something funny in his chest, created a tightness that was uncomfortable and yet so, so welcome. 

“Hi,” he intoned back to her with teasing sarcasm. He realized his thumb was still stroking her forehead, and he regretfully let his hand fall back to his side. “How do you feel?”

Hermione swallowed. “Strange,” she admitted in answer. Realization dawned on her. He could see the moment it spread across her features, the bewilderment and shame mixing to form disappointment and sadness in her honey brown eyes. “I… blacked out?” she asked of him, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. At his stiff nod, she covered her face with her hands. 

“Don’t,” he told her in a gentle reprimand, hands encircling her wrists and pulling her arms down. “One such as you can only tolerate so much,” he murmured soothingly.

Her face contorted. “One such as me?” She pulled her hands from his grasp and propped herself up on the stiff bed. “What are you about, Severus?” She was immediately defensive, staring at him as if he were a stranger. Her chestnut waves were a wild tangle around her head, her eyes filled with indignation. 

“Hermione,” he began in explanation, inching toward her as if trying to placate a startled deer, “with your trauma in play, there will be setbacks…”

Her brow furrowed as the feeling of defeat washed over her. “I was doing so well.” 

He inched toward her again, his hands reaching out. “You are still doing well; it is expected for you to have triggers…” He trailed off as her face hardened.

Her eyes closed as her nostrils flared. “Sometimes I miss the nasty Severus Snape,” she muttered.

He drew back sharply. Did she think it was easy for him to be gentle with her? To be something for her that he had never been for anyone? To show outright affection and concern for her in front of persons who could so easily use it to his detriment? He suddenly felt very foolish. He had wanted to be needed by her, and had indulged and even thrived being her anchor in her storm. He’d even fancied himself feeling something more for her. But as soon as she had seen Potter, she had run to the young man as if he were some kind of deliverer. She had been so eager to leave Snape behind. What had he expected? She was Hermione Granger. She would eventually stop needing him, and have her friends and her life back. Who would he have? His heart turned, his stomach sank, as he realized he had absurdly hoped he would have _her_.

He spun around and nearly collided with McGonagall. 

“Severus!” she exclaimed. Madam Pomfrey rushed around them and brought out her wand to examine Hermione. McGonagall eyed him. “Is she quite alright?” 

He shrugged. “She’ll manage.”

He ignored McGonagall’s perplexed look and strode toward the door. 

* * *

Harry was just outside of the Hospital Wing, speaking instructions to his Patronus about updating an unknown person about Hermione. The formidable stag turned and galloped away, and Harry trotted to catch up with Snape.

“Professor,” he called.

Snape paused reluctantly and faced him with impassiveness.

Harry peered at him calculatingly. They were near eye-to-eye now, and there was no trepidation or even rebellion in the younger man’s features as there had been during his days at Hogwarts. 

“Was there something you wanted, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked him in a disinterested tone.

Harry smiled. “You can’t make us all go back to seeing you the way you were before. Especially not after what happened earlier at the Three Broomsticks.”

Snape glared at him. “I am a busy man. If your intention is to bore me to death, I will take my leave.”

“You caught her,” Harry stated, his green eyes boring into Snape. 

He looked away, not appreciating the intensity of those too-familiar green eyes. “And?” he drew out the word, attempting to express his utter annoyance for the conversation.

“You knew she was going under, and you didn’t let her fall.” 

Snape let out an exasperated breath. Was the boy proud of his skill of stating the obvious?

“She tried to tell me, but I didn’t believe her. You have been there throughout it all, haven’t you?” His voice was full of awe and respect. 

“And now you are here, the hero of the wizarding world. You weren’t there for her before. You can be there for her now.” Snape turned on his heel to depart, a deep weariness settling in his bones, in his soul. 

“Professor,” Harry called, his voice echoing throughout the hallway. “She wants you, not me.” 

Snape pretended as if he couldn’t hear him, and continued stalking toward the Dungeons. It was impossible for anyone to want him. Potter’s eyes, identical to Lily’s, had reminded him firmly of that. Attachments, vulnerability - those things were not for him. 

Sometimes, he wished he were still the nasty Severus Snape, too.

* * *

Her eyes were glued to Harry as he approached her bedside. He sat down on a nearby stool and reached out to take her hand, which she welcomed and squeezed gratefully.

“I’m sorry,” he told her, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “I didn’t know… I couldn’t have begun to imagine you… like this…” He looked completely ashamed; his head dropped down and he scuffed his shoe against the floor.

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She hated that everyone was speaking of her as if she were some novel, horrific creature. “I don’t like to imagine myself like this, either,” she told him faintly. She couldn’t be mad at him. She had never been good at staying mad at anyone, besides Ron. 

“You have always been so strong. You were the rock, between the three of us. And you have always been the one I’ve come to with my troubles.” He squeezed her hand and met her eyes, and his green orbs were shining with tears. “And yet I wasn’t there for yours.”

“Harry.” She reached up and brushed a piece of dark hair from his face. No matter how he cut it, the strands would always be unruly. “No harm done.”

He scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her waist and held her hand to his heart. “You are my sister, you know that, right?” He brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “I’m so, so sorry.” He frowned. “And I plan to tell Kingsley how disgusting I find the Ministry’s Potions Expert.”

A soft smile lifted her lips. “Go on now. I should get back to my chambers; I’m sure Severus will walk me.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I will help you.”

Hermione frowned, a bad feeling filling her gut. “Harry? Where’s Severus?”

He avoided her eyes as he answered, “Professor Snape left, Hermione.”

She squinted at him dangerously. “What do you mean, ‘he left’?”


	8. Take What Was Wrong

* * *

She was very familiar with the wards protecting his personal chambers, but she ignored her brash instinct and chose to knock and be invited in, rather than storm through. What Harry had relayed to her about their conversation was unsettling, and the thought of being on the outs with Severus made her feel panicked - which was the last thing she needed.

However, her pleasant intentions flew out of the window when he didn’t answer. 

She knew where his head was. He probably assumed that she hadn’t been paying attention; that it had all been about her. And while she had done a lot more opening up to him than he to her, she knew the obstinate man. She knew what insecurities plagued him, had always plagued him. She could not and would not sit by while he pushed her away.

This snarky, kind, inflexible, gentle, ornery and protective man had become her best friend, not to mention her most incredible lover, and she was not going to let him slip through her fingers.

“Severus, if you don’t open this door right now I’m going to blow it down!” she yelled in warning.

No answer.

Glaring, she pulled out her wand and lowered his wards, then swung the door open so roughly that it clanged against the wall. 

Snape came dashing around the corner with an alarmed look on his face and his wand raised. When he saw her, he frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Granger,” he growled, something he only called her when he was truly vexed with her. “I am changing my wards.”

She stormed toward him. “I knocked. You’re not going to ignore me, Severus.”

“Clearly,” he retorted. He sidestepped her and waved his hand to close and lock the door to his chambers. “As it happens, I was visiting the toilet.”

Hermione felt a blush creeping up, but she held her head high. “Yes, well, you shouldn’t have left me to begin with.” She sounded silly even to her own ears.

Snape rubbed his face wearily and sat down in his favorite wingback chair next to the fireplace. “You exhaust me, woman.” He steepled his fingers and looked up at her. “I’m not your servant. Mr. Potter was there, he could take care of you.”

Hermione leaned against the back of the chair opposite his, which she had been claiming as hers of late. “Severus, honestly, what is going on in that head of yours?” She brushed her hair behind her ears and looked around sadly. “After everything… you are just going to what, abandon me?” She tried to hide the hurt she felt, but her tone was entirely too accusatory and she cursed inwardly. 

He closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair. “Hermione,” he said, searching for the right words. The last thing he wanted was to drive her back to the darkness so eager to swallow her up; but he also very much did not want to leave himself vulnerable. To be hurt again... it was unthinkable. “I have not regretted a single moment of caring for you, of helping you to overcome the mental and physical repercussions of what happened.” He gazed up at her, trying to steel his heart as he took in her crushed appearance. “But today, I suddenly became an afterthought when Mr. Potter finally deigned to come to you.” He tilted his head as he watched defensive anger flitter over her features. “Do you think it was pleasant for me to watch you run to him, to see you walk away with someone who didn’t give a fig about you until it was convenient for him? I am the one who has given everything to you.” He stopped. He was going too far, letting her have too much. He relaxed his brow and retreated to impassiveness. “You will be fine, without me.”

She gaped at him. Her heart was twisting painfully in her chest. That he had been feeling all of this… she had thought she knew what he was feeling and thinking. She was wrong. She had been so very wrong. She knew, especially after her failed relationship with Ron, that one could only give so much before one crumpled under the weight of it all, never receiving anything in return.

He had been there for her at her darkest. She had given him her friendship, her body, but had she really given her all, as he had? He needed just as much healing as she, and in that moment she was convinced that despite her brokenness, she could and would give that healing to him the way he was giving it to her. 

“Severus, I’m sorry.” She went to him, kneeling before him. She placed her hands on his knees and bent her head to try to catch his gaze. “I’ve taken you for granted. You must know that I never meant to… not that not meaning to excuses it.” She leaned back on her heels, feeling defeated that he wouldn’t look at her. “I am sorry. It’s not that I’ve not thought of your happiness… It’s just that I need you so badly, Severus.” She rose, the pressure on her knees now as she leaned against his legs and pressed a hand to his face. “I need you.”

His glittering obsidian eyes lifted to meet her gaze, and she gasped at the hungry look on his face.

“Say it again,” he commanded.

Heat spread from her core to her extremities. Gods, but he did something wicked to her. “I need you,” she told him again, her hands inching up his thighs. “I need you.”

“Again,” he demanded, his hand reaching out to wrap around the nape of her neck. 

“I need you,” she told him breathlessly, quaking from his unendingly wicked gaze.

“Come here,” he bid her, pulling her up. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, as he slid her robes off her shoulders. “Say it again.” His hands slid up under her blouse, spanning her waist and massaging. 

“I need you, Severus.” The words came out on a moan, her head falling back as his thumbs brushed over her hardened nipples. She grinded her hips against the firm length of him, pressed tightly to her thigh. He whipped her blouse over her head and it fell to the floor forgotten. 

He cupped her flushed cheeks and instructed, “Look at me.” When she obeyed, he held her chin in between his thumb and forefinger, while his free hand slid down the valley of her breasts, to the top of her skirt, and dipped into her knickers. His fingers stroked the swell of her mound, and he bit his lip as he watched her gasp in response. “Keep your eyes on me, Hermione,” he told her. “And… say,” he said, retrieving his wand from his robes, “it,” he flicked it, and the remainder of her clothes disappeared, “again.”

The chilly air hit her naked body, mingling with the heat spreading through her. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she wiggled helplessly in his lap. A tiny mewl of need escaped her. “I need you.” 

Another wave of his wand and he was bare beneath her, his warm skin moulding deliciously to hers. “The thing is, my lovely witch…” He leaned forward, holding her hips. “I need you, too.” His head dipped, and he pressed a kiss to the jaggedly round scar marring her collarbone. 

“Severus,” she whispered. She twined her fingers through his hair, watching him in awe. “I’m yours,” she assured him. 

He continued pressing kisses along her shoulder, to the hollow of her throat, then up her neck to her jaw. She was ready and eager as his lips enveloped hers, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as their tongues battled ardently. 

She would never, ever grow tired of kissing him. The man used his tongue in ways she had thought only existed in dreams. Straddling him, kissing him deeply as her body was glued to his… she felt happier than she had in a long while. 

She reached between them and took hold of his swollen cock, causing him to groan into her mouth. She broke their kiss and presented him with a devilish grin, stroking him from top to bottom. She didn’t take her eyes from his, ever-aware of his previous command, as she trailed kisses down his chin to his chest, working her way down the way he had worked his way up moments ago. She could feel him holding his breath as she inched every closer to his thick arousal. Her hair feathered over his thighs as she wrapped her hand around him and lowered her mouth to the head of his velvety length, her gaze still holding his.

He groaned, the wetness of her mouth sending a jolt of electricity through him. Her wicked tongue swirled around the head of his cock, and the fire behind her eyes as she did so had a ravenous growl rumbling up from deep in his chest. 

“Much more of that,” he informed her sharply, “and this will be over before it’s started.”

She sucked him in deeply at the comment, causing a shout to escape him and his hips to come up off the chair. 

Eyes blazing with uncontrolled desire, he grabbed her upper arms and guided her backward to the rug beside the coffee table. The fire crackled in front of them, mixing with the heat already steaming from their bodies, resulting in a glistening sheen of sweat on their naked limbs. He knelt between her legs, his hands caressing up over her calves and thighs. He brushed his fingers over the elaborate burn scars at her hip, and dipped his head to kiss them, as was his custom when she was naked in front of him. He knew what it was like to feel insecure, and he took great care to make her feel as if the blemishes meant nothing. 

She dug her nails into his shoulders and he rose over her, staring down at her as his prick teased her entrance. 

“I need you,” she urged him, her hands wild over him, curling in his hair, running down his chest, clutching his arse. “Please, Severus,” she begged, the ache in her voice breaking him. “Please, please.”

He claimed her mouth in a bruising kiss as his hips surged forward and he sheathed himself fully in her slick heat, eagerly swallowing her moan. He drew back until just the head of his cock was inside of her, and then thrust back in as deep as he could go. 

They had had sex. They had fucked. They had even made gentle love. But this… this was a claiming of souls. He marveled at the harmony of their movements, at the perfect fit of their bodies. He knew, as their eyes stayed locked and she gazed up at him in amazement, that she could feel the difference in their lovemaking. 

He pulled back completely, smirking at her anguished cry of protest. He turned her to her side, and lifted her forward leg so that he ankle rested on his shoulder to better access her center. He guided himself back to her entrance and thrust inside her once more, causing her to cry out again in pleasure. He stroked her arse and then smacked it, pistoning her determinedly as she moaned and pressed her face into the rug. He grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her head to turn. “Eyes on me,” he commanded, and she growled at him but locked eyes with him once more. She scratched her nails down his chest, breath coming out in short gasps.

Knowingly, he reached between her legs and slipped his middle finger into her folds, finding her throbbing clit and rubbing insistently. 

“ _Oh!_ ” she cried, and her nails sunk into his thigh. “Oh, I, I…”

A delighted shriek left her throat and her feminine muscles clenched around him strongly. He stroked once, twice, and released in tandem with her, a low groan escaping him. They shook together as their mutual climax echoed exquisitely throughout their bodies.

He fell to the floor beside her, and reached for her. She rolled toward him immediately, fitting herself to his side, her head on his chest. They breathed, hearts pounding, silent as each marveled at the intensity of it all.

“Merlin’s pants,” Hermione finally uttered breathily. She rewarded him with a kiss to his chest when he chuckled at her exclamation. She would need a clearer head to analyze what had just taken place between them, because she was pretty sure that he was falling for her, just as she had for him.

She felt mended in that moment, as if nothing could ever harm her again; as if she were a rehabilitated bird with renewed wings. 

But a terrible thought loomed; a dark, inescapable voice that whispered, _But when will the other shoe drop?_


	9. And Make It Right

* * *

“We shall pick up where we left off tomorrow,” Hermione announced to her class, folding her wand back into her robes. “Class dismissed.”

She watched with a satisfied smile as the first-years shuffled out excitedly, on a natural high from her engaging lesson on the Tickling Charm. She had particularly enjoyed the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw first-years lately. They were eager and attentive to all aspects of her teaching, not to mention they were always in a good mood. 

When they suddenly went silent, a wide path separating them as they shrank back in fear, she raised a brow. Only one person in the entire castle could hush a gaggle of enthusiastic, bubbly students.

Severus moved down the cleared path, sending foreboding glares at her pupils. Hermione shook her head. That man took entirely too much pleasure in scaring them.

“Ah, Professor Snape,” she greeted with propriety. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

His robes billowed around him ominously as he swept down between the desks and halted before her. “Professor Granger, there is a matter I must discuss with you,” he informed her. He shifted his gaze and waited until he heard the last of the hurried, retreating footsteps, then set his eyes back on her with a smug smirk.

She grinned, unable to help herself; the man was hopeless when it came to his old, bad habits. “You take too much pleasure in that,” she admonished him, moving closer to him and running her hands up his chest. She stood on her tiptoes for a kiss, which he obliged stiffly. He was still very hesitant to show outward affection toward her, especially in their classrooms, but she was grateful he had begun to accept her short pecks whenever they came across one another in relative private. 

“I prefer for those snot-nosed brats to remain unaware of our… arrangement.” His hand reached into his robe and he pulled out a piece of parchment, holding it out to her with a guarded expression. 

“What’s this?” she asked, accepting the letter and opening it. Her eyes widened excitedly. “An invitation!” she cried, looking up at him proudly. “Why, this is wonderful. What an opportunity!”

He nodded and took the letter back from her, expression still unreadable. “I have presented in the past at this symposium, but never been the keynote speaker.” He gave her a small smile. “I always turned them down. Especially after the war. I surely wasn’t keen to be in the spotlight.”

She took his large, calloused hands in hers, squeezing them in encouragement. “I think you should take them up on it, Severus.”

She watched him take a deep breath, though he tried to conceal it. Then, with surprising trepidation, he announced, “I want you to come with me.”

Her eyes widened. “Me? But Potions isn’t my field.” She wished she was capable of being stoic, like him, but true to her Gryffindor nature, her feelings were always written all over her face. She could tell her reaction was what he had been anxious about, and inwardly cursed herself.

A look of reprimand on his face, he retorted, “Everything is your field, you insufferable know-it-all.” Then, with a sudden gleam in his eyes, he stepped forward, and his hands went to her hips, pulling her close against him. “It would be a nice chance for us to get away together…” His dark head dipped and he nuzzled her neck, causing her to release a sigh of contentment.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pressed herself even closer. “The idea has merit…”

His lips brushed the sensitive spot right below her ear, and a shiver rippled through her body.

“I must check with Minerva, to make sure she wouldn’t mind us both being absent.” Her voice was firm, even with his distracting ministrations. 

He growled against her skin, his hands sliding down the swell of her arse to squeeze insistently. “Minerva be damned, witch. Say yes.” 

Hermione laughed softly in delight. When his voice lowered in such a way, his lips on her skin and his hands on her arse, it was hard to deny him anything. Of course, time alone with him, at a conference where she was sure to learn new things, was not something she intended to miss. It was, however, very nice to witness the lengths to which he would go to convince her to accompany him. 

“Fine,” she agreed, stepping back from him reluctantly. “My third-years will be in shortly. Do me a kindness and speak to Minerva - I mean it, Severus.” She eyed him expectantly.

He narrowed his eyes and lifted a hand to her cheek, the backs of his knuckles sliding down her soft skin slowly. He finally gave a great sigh. “I shall, my dutiful girl.” His hand dropped immediately as he heard approaching footsteps, and he turned from her quickly to swirl around and glare daggers at the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. 

The third-year Slytherin-Gryffindor class shuffled in, the Slytherins looking pleased to see him, the Gryffindors looking disgusted. He glowered with menace, then stalked through the middle of the group.

Hermione watched his dramatic depart with amusement. _What a surly git_. And she loved every inch of him.

* * *

Severus murmured the password to the gargoyle protecting the Headmistress’ office. He wondered how much more trite Minerva’s passwords could get; the last thing he wanted to utter was _hiccuping haggis_ , the very thought giving him a crude shudder. She had become so much like Dumbledore over the years, a twinkle in her eye, a playfulness in her tone. She was still as sharp as ever, but, Merlin’s tattered socks, her password was becoming sillier every time she changed it.

“Oh, Severus! Do come in.” She fluttered to her seat behind her desk, a wide smile across her aged face. She had always been one of the few people genuinely pleased to welcome him - apart from his one year as Headmaster, but during that darkest of times, she could not be blamed. He hadn’t even wanted to look at himself in the mirror at that time. 

But things were vastly different between them now; she trusted him more than she ever had before, and he served diligently as her Deputy Headmaster. They had an easy rapport that he wasn’t sure he’d ever shared with another person, save for Hermione, which still bewildered him at times. 

“I must ask you-” he began, but was cut off as she chimed in. 

“My boy, may we begin with pleasantries? I have been meaning to take some time with you for a long while.” She sipped at her tea, and he eyed her suspiciously. That twinkle in her eye was sparkling, and he was immediately wary.

“This isn’t a social call,” he informed her tightly. He suddenly knew exactly where she was going with this, and as comfortable as he felt with her, it was not something he was prepared to discuss at length.

“Nonsense!” she replied, setting down her teacup and interlocking her fingers together on top of the desk. “Tell me, how does Hermione fair these days?”

Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was loath to unleash his temper on Minerva, but so help him, she was not going to force him into this conversation.

“You both seem to be in incredibly good spirits as of late,” she pressed, eyebrows raised in anticipation. 

“Minerva,” he began, drawing her name out. He gave her a hard stare. “If you would like to summon Professor Granger to inquire about her current state, I suggest you do so after her next class has ended. For now, I came to ask-”

“If you wish to ask for something Severus, you must give me something in return.” Her triumphant smile was almost catlike, predatory, and it disconcerted him.

He balked, blinking slowly at her in disbelief. The old bird was going to make this difficult for him. He realized, feeling like a complete dunderhead, that to ask her if both he and Hermione could attend the Potions Symposium, he should expect it would lead to questions about the two of them and their involvement with one another. He wasn’t quite sure what held him back; Minerva was well-aware how close the two had become during her recovery. Something about admitting his feelings for Hermione out loud, however, unsettled him greatly. On some level deep within him, he felt it was better to not speak of things that were going well, lest they were jinxed and fell apart. 

“Professor Granger and I wish to attend a symposium the day after the students are dismissed for the holidays. I am to be the Keynote Speaker.” He spoke without emotion, attempting to sound as professional as possible.

“Well that is wonderful! I wonder though why Hermione would attend a potions conference?” She sipped at her tea again, her eyes glittering with mischief. He bit back some choice curse words.

“ _Professor Granger_ , as you well know, has always been an eager learner,” he groused, expression dour.

“Oh, come off it, Severus. _Hermione_ ,” she emphasized pointedly, “is indeed a scholar; however, I want to know why she is attending _with you_.”

They were locked in a fierce staring contest; his was more of a glaring contest, but Minerva kept a pleasant, innocent expression, frustrating him greatly.

“I asked her to accompany me,” he finally revealed, running a hand through his black strands in agitation. 

She grinned. “And why is that?”

“Dammit Minerva!” he shouted, then forced himself to calm. “You are like a dog with a bone. Hermione and I are… engaged in a companionship.” He grimaced at his own words, utterly disgusted with his ability to sound like a bumbling buffoon. 

Minerva studied him quietly for what felt like endless moments. And then, by some miracle, she let up, saying, “As it so happens, Filius and Septima are staying at Hogwarts during the holiday break. Hermione may attend the symposium with you.” 

He felt relief course through him, but remained unnerved by the continued knowing smirk on her face. 

“I must tell you, Severus, that I am very pleased that you are… engaged in a companionship… with Hermione. She has returned to the land of the living - and so have you.” She stood and smoothed her robes. “Now, I do hate to cut this short, but I was asked to the kitchen by the house elves; they are planning a wonderful feast for the students’ last day before holiday and want my approval.”

Severus raised a brow and followed her out. These Gryffindor witches would be the death of him, but damned if he didn’t feel a warmth in his chest at the Headmistress’ words.


	10. Half of the Flesh

* * *

Despite the numerous self-doubts Severus had harbored since childhood, he always seemed to be able to present with an air of complete confidence. Whether it be teaching his classes, or speaking to a crowd at a convention about his field, he was unfailingly smooth and calculated. 

He had been received exceedingly warmly by the organizers of the fifteenth annual Potions Extraordinaire Symposium, as usual. They were incredibly accommodating, providing him with the best room in the Luxembourg Grand Wizarding Resort, and even credited expensive meals to his reservation. Perhaps he had been foolish to resist the Keynote Speaker invitation all of these years; but he felt very strongly that he had chosen the perfect time. Not only were they several years removed from the chaotic, often-gossiped-about life he had lived during the war, but he also had an incredible witch beside him who had been somewhat of a buffer for his introverted persona. Hermione had easily won over every single wizard or witch they came across at the symposium. She hurried to the front row each time they attended a presentation, taking detailed notes and asking the most pertinent questions. 

The only problem with her behavior was that she was now on the front row during his own presentation, not taking her eyes off of him for a moment. Even as she noted different points across her parchment, her eyes stayed on him. It was as unnerving as it was encouraging. The worst of it, however, was that she was wearing a form-fitting dress under her robes, and every now and then he would catch a glimpse of the smooth skin of her legs. Severus Snape was not one to be distracted, but Merlin did she make it difficult to focus.

He could have sworn she had heard his thoughts, as a wicked gleam flashed in her honey-brown eyes and she shifted in her seat. Her robes fell open and she crossed her legs slowly, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. He frowned at her as he fought the urge to adjust his suddenly too-tight collar. She was going to pay for that, and the thought made him smile evilly for the briefest of moments, before he delved into his next point.

As he finished his presentation and received uproarious applause, he felt pride blossoming in his chest. It was an unfamiliar notion to him, but as Hermione beamed up at him, standing and clapping enthusiastically, he couldn’t help but feel supreme satisfaction.

Though he was not one for displays of affection, when she practically tackled him after he fully descended the stairs to the stage he allowed her to kiss him soundly. 

“You were riveting!” she praised him earnestly. It had been a very long time, indeed, since he had seen Hermione looking purely joyful. It warmed him to his core, melting the ice walls that were his internal defenses. The elation he felt, divine though it was, scared him; he had never experienced such an emotion before. He wasn’t keen on feeling so disarmed, and yet, how could he reject this high - the applause still ringing in his ears, and this witch in his arms?

“Was it your intent to distract me?” he asked of her in a low voice, as others approached to congratulate him on a job well done.

She pulled back from him and winked. “Only a little.”

“I will get you for that, you know. Later.” He raised a black brow to underscore his threat.

“I’m counting on it,” she replied smartly, and turned to greet the well-wishers. 

Severus shook hands and nodded to those who came to compliment him. He answered several questions about his work, careful not to reveal too much before he could properly patent his creations. By the tenth person who had fired off a barrage of questions, he was well and truly vexed. Never had so many approached him before; they had, perhaps, admired his work from afar, but he had never been an approachable wizard. He attributed it to the witch at his side. She made him seem less mean, and it simply would not do. He needed to put his scowl back in place and ward off any more salutations. 

He felt Hermione inch closer to him, her body all at once tense. He glanced up to see Henry Grelodden sauntering up to them, an arrogant expression on his face. Severus barely suppressed a growl as he subtly moved his body between Hermione and the dunderhead converging on them. Of course the bastard would be so bold as to approach Severus here, where we was the Keynote Speaker and had just successfully overwhelmed the room with his extensive research, when he could do nothing but suppress his violent urge to rip the man to shreds - with a few hexes and with his bare hands. 

“Miraculous findings, Snape. Yes, I’m sure you’re bored to death most of the time, and have to seek out bizarre solutions to non-existent Potions problems.” His snide taunts rolled of his pompous tongue, and his gaze slid to Hermione before resting back on Severus. 

“I find myself astounded at your presence at this symposium, Mr. Grelodden, considering the time you no doubt pour into publishing your inane articles.” Severus drew the words out mockingly, as he was so skilled at doing when severely irritated. He smirked at the angry red color that mottled Grelodden’s face as a result of his insult.

The younger man struggled to contain himself as he replied with barely-suppressed rage, “There are many in attendance here who think the selection of you as Keynote Speaker was unacceptable.”

Severus smiled tightly. “I’m sure there are.” He took Hermione’s hand and pulled her around to his side, the furthest from Grelodden, and tucked her carefully under his arm. “Good day to you, _Potions Expert_ ,” he bade him derisively, effectively ending the conversation and moving down the aisle with Hermione purposefully.

“Merlin, but I hate him,” Hermione breathed, looking up at Severus as they exited the grand conference room where he had given his presentation. “I wish I could forget that he existed.”

Severus pulled her to the side, and halted next to the marble wall of the foyer, holding her arms and staring at her seriously. “How do you feel?” he asked of her, searching her eyes for any signs of anxiety or stress.

She smiled up at him. “I’m fine, Severus. You didn’t let him hardly look at me. I appreciate it.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and embraced him tightly, her head resting on his chest just over his heart. She gasped and pulled back, though, at the sound of his heartbeat. “Your heart is racing!” she said to him. “Maybe I should be asking how _you_ feel?”

He cupped her face in his large hands, pushing her hair back and tilting her head up. “In truth, I feel things I never have before. You do something to me, witch.” Gazes locked, his eyes bored into hers with a breathtaking intensity. He felt like a veritable god among men, despite the unpleasant exchange with that bastard Grelodden, and Hermione had been the catalyst of the exhilaration within him. He felt a pressing need to get her naked and answer her question thoroughly, but she had already skipped lunch to assist him in setting up for his presentation, and he did not want her to go without.

“Dinner,” he told her solemnly, “And then you are mine, and only mine, in our suite, until tomorrow morning.”

She grinned in response, her eyes already glazed with desire. “Dinner later,” she directed softly. “Take me upstairs now.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. 

Resisting the urge to scoop her into his arms and make a spectacle of them both in the hotel foyer, he entwined his hand with hers and led them to the magical elevators that would carry them to their suite. They boarded, and as soon as the doors closed she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, well aware of the kind of visceral reaction such an action from her evoked in him. His mouth came down in bruising force over hers, his tongue plundering her mouth with such ferocity that a deep moan escaped her. She pressed her body to his, nearly climbing his body like a tree in an effort to get as close as possible to him.

The elevator whizzed, then came to a halt outside the door of their suite, waiting for the magical keycard to be presented. It wasn’t until endless moments later they realized they had arrived, when a warning _ding ding ding_ began to chime. Tearing away from her with complete reluctance, Severus dug into his robes for the key, and held it up for the elevator to scan. 

The doors swung open, and Hermione grabbed playfully at his arse, causing him to whirl around with an indignant expression. She gave him a cheeky grin, and he growled low in his throat, snatching her inside their room with his hands firmly gripping her waist, heady with the need to have her. 

He kicked the door shut and pressed Hermione against it, capturing her wrists and pinning them above her head. His free hand tore at her robes, pulling her dress down her shoulder as his lips moved down her neck, over her collarbone, his mouth branding her with bliss. She arched against him, impatient, but he lifted his dark head and his predatory gaze made her breath hitch in her throat.

“Your brazen attempts to beguile me during my presentation have left me no choice but to punish you properly,” he cautioned her, voice at its deepest timbre, washing over her senses and sending a jolt of electricity right to her core. He was always incredibly pleased with the way her body responded to him, the way her inhibitions came crashing down as soon as he came anywhere near her. 

He stepped away from her and jerked his head toward the massive bed. “Facedown, my lovely witch.” He watched her eyes widen, a fiery response lighting up the honey-brown orbs. He could see the moment her feeble protest died on her lips, as she allowed her desire to overrule her indignity at being commanded in such a way. Hermione was one of the bossiest witches he had ever met, but when it came to their lovemaking, she let him take control. She longed for it; became weak in the knees whenever he told her what to do. It certainly made it easier for him to deal with her outside of the bedroom, knowing no matter how pushy she was during the day, at night, he would be in charge of that sassy mouth of hers.

Severus watched her step next to the bed, and reach down to remove her heels before she followed his orders. “No,” he stopped her, and she glanced over her shoulder at him coyly. He removed his robes, throwing them on the nearest chair, and stalked toward her. “Those stay,” he indicated her heels, then eyed her arse. “Dress… off.” 

Hermione straightened, slowly, and she knew what she was doing to him, damn her. His eyes followed her every tiniest movement. She reached down to bunch the silky fabric of her dress in her hands, and then pulled it up and over her head in one smooth motion, leaving his mouth suddenly dry as a desert when his eyes settled on her naked body. A small, triumphant smirk tilted her lips as he discovered she wore no undergarments. His trousers suddenly felt deathly tight. 

She finally bent over the bed, facedown, and a groan escaped him before he could stop it. She drove him crazy, he couldn’t deny it. Her soft, creamy skin beckoned him, the two full globes of her arse creating a frenzy inside him. He stepped behind her, palms itching. 

A stinging _whack_ across her bottom caused her to cry out. He rubbed over the print of his hand, pleased with his handiwork. When she wriggled, he spanked her again, and her thighs quivered as she hummed low in her throat. He adjusted her legs, spreading them wider, then slapped her arse again, eliciting a gasp from her. 

She was dripping wet, her folds parting readily for his fingers, and he stroked the length of her damp heat, causing her to arch her lower back higher, seeking more of his touch. His fingers brushed over her clit ever so lightly, and she moaned, grinding her hips down at the sensation. 

His cock was twitching painfully, and he wanted to pound her into the fucking mattress. But this woman… this woman had given him everything. He wanted nothing more than to show her his sincere appreciation. 

Severus flipped her over abruptly. “Remove your glamours,” he instructed, watching her blink rapidly in confusion before she murmured the counterspell. The vast scars across her abdomen and collarbone appeared, stark white against her flushed skin. He stepped between her legs and bent over her, his fingers tenderly running over the blemishes. “You are beautiful,” he reassured her, hating the sad look in her eyes. He pressed his lips first to her collarbone, trailing the round mark where the dragon’s horn had pierced clean through her body. His hands slid up over her silky skin, cupping her full breasts and massaging them. Her eyes closed as a delighted moan escaped her, her hands entangling in his jet-black locks, urging him for more. Smirking, he bent his head and laved one of her nipples with his tongue, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. Her hips lifted from the bed, her body begging him for relief, but he took his time, worshipping her breasts with his hands and mouth until she was panting softly.

He trailed wet kisses down her stomach, and caressed the burn scars at her abdomen with his lips, covering every inch of the crinkled skin. One of his hands stroked the hypersensitive flesh of her inner thighs, urging her legs to part further as his kisses moved over her mound. 

“Please, Severus, please, don’t torture me, come inside me,” she whispered the invitation desperately to him, clutching at his shoulders and hair for dear life.

“Not yet, love,” he murmured in response, his hot breath hitting her aching center. She writhed at the feel of it. He clamped her hips tightly with his hands to hold her in place as his mouth descended on her glistening quim. His tongue flicked against her clit, then swirled against the hardened bud without restraint. Hermione’s hips were bucking wildly, and he pressed down on her thighs, not allowing her to seek her pleasure, but doling it out in his own good time. He buried nose between her folds, using what he’d always thought was his worst feature to create a constant stroke against her clit while his tongue dove into her entrance. He alternated between the two motions, sucking at the small bundle of nerves then plunging his tongue inside her. Hermione slapped at the bed, her head turning from side to side deliriously as she approached her climax.

“That’s it,” he growled against her slit. He pressed two fingers inside her, curling them to brush against her most sensitive spot. “Come for me.”

She cried out and her whole body tensed, hips rising from the bed with the force of her orgasm, clutching the bedsheets like a lifeline. 

He moved over her, having already murmured the spell to remove his clothing, his cock standing up ramrod straight. He guided himself to her core, entering her slowly, tantalizingly, as aftershocks continued to grip her body. He lifted her legs so that her ankles rested on his shoulders, and stroked into her slowly. He tried to retain his control, but her feminine muscles were squeezing him so tightly, and she was looking up at him with her mouth agape, wild brown hair fanned out around her... his hips sped up, rapidly pistoning against her, his heavy balls slapping against her arse. 

One of her hands snuck up his thigh and around to his buttocks, where she sunk her nails into his round cheek and moaned, her hips meeting him thrust for thrust. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her ankle, the strap of her heels brushing the corner of his mouth. _Fuck_ , but she was everything. She was _everything_.

Severus bent forward and grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place as he pounded into her. He could feel himself nearing his peak, and he cursed, because he still had so much he wanted to give her. 

Folding one of her legs around his waist, and holding the other leg straight up, he reached down to strum her clit. She screamed in ecstasy, and the sound drove him wild. He drove into her like a wild heathen, puncturing each of her ragged moans with a thrust, and then his balls tightened. He roared his release, still forcefully rubbing her clit. Her walls clenched around him as he released himself inside her, and she clawed at his arse as she came violently, joining him, her whole body trembling.

Struggling to regain his breath, he slipped from her and joined her on the bed, laying on his stomach with his head turned so that he could watch her in wonder. His little witch had enchanted him, wholly and completely. It was time he made that known to her, even if the thought terrified him. How could he allow himself to love, to place his trust and life into the hands of someone else again, after all he had been through? But it was far too late to go back. He was in love with her; she had become the center of his world, and truthfully, he was tired of fighting it. 


	11. And Blood That Makes Me Whole

* * *

Somehow, they had managed to drag their energy-depleted bodies out to dinner after briefly considering room service. Luxembourg at night was too pretty to pass up, however, and with so little time to explore the city they wanted to make the most of it. In the vicinity of the Place Guillaume were an assortment of restaurants; Hermione explained to Severus that she simply could not impose on a restaurant that was about to close, and so they kept searching until they discovered an Italian diner that stayed open a tiny bit later to suit their needs. 

Dining with Severus in a Muggle establishment was an adventure all its own. They had never truly had a proper date, as it were, and this trip was bringing about all kinds of firsts for their relationship. Hermione observed bemusedly as Severus seemed to be at odds within himself - relaxing over their red wine, but uncomfortable when she held his hand on top of the table in full view of everyone else, then easing back again as he sipped at his dessert espresso. He had impeccable table manners, but scowled at the servers attending to them. The dichotomy of the man made her brain spin.

Still, he seemed to mostly enjoy their evening. He watched silently as Hermione provided the Muggle currency for their meal, and then pulled out her chair for her so that they could take their leave. Eager to return to their room, but also desirous of drinking in all of the sights on their last night in the city, Hermione convinced Severus to stroll hand-in-hand with her down the old historical cobblestone streets. She felt happy, carefree even, for the first time since the dreaded Triwizard Tournament that had changed her life forever. 

“What is that brain of yours up to now?” Severus asked her, his voice deep and rough from the brisk night air. 

She grinned and leaned her body against him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He halted in the middle of the street, empty but for a few scattered cars, and pulled her to him. His hands gripped her waist, and his dark head bent toward hers. “Surely nothing inappropriate,” he teased with a smirk.

Delighted with his uncharacteristic ostentation, her arms snaked around his neck, her wrists linking at his nape. “Why, Severus Snape! A public display of affection, is it?”

She was rewarded with a dark laugh, and his lips descended to meet hers hungrily. She moaned softly and pressed her body to his, one of her hands curling into his jet-black hair.

“What a charming scene,” an acerbic tone commented to their right. 

They broke away swiftly and faced the source. Hermione felt pure anger wash over her at the sight of Henry Grelodden, who was flanked by two men in masks. As she squinted into the darkness, she suppressed a gasp upon recognizing that they were Death Eater masks.

Severus, too, must have noticed the ominous masks. His hand was like an iron band around her wrist as he jerked her behind him. She bristled at the action, because she was more than capable of taking care of herself; and yet, part of her loved him even more for his obvious protectiveness of her.

“What do you want, Grelodden?” Severus sneered, his voice dripping with derision. 

Hermione noticed movement from both sides, and turned her head to see that she and Severus were being flanked by more figures in Death Eater masks. Her hand slipped into her robes and closed around the hilt of her vinewood wand, gripping it firmly. 

“I told you there were many of us who were displeased that you were chosen as the Keynote Speaker,” Grelodden replied smugly. “Surely you remember your old friends?” He gestured to the Death Eaters surrounding them. “It is difficult to touch you in Britain, Severus. But here,” he goaded, an evil smile on his face, “here, you are vulnerable.”

Severus scoffed, as if completely unconcerned by Grelodden’s threats. “Men have died assuming such about me,” he warned. Then he raised a brow, and a mocking smile touched his lips. “Death Eaters, Grelodden? Are you that desperate?”

“You and your little whore nearly destroyed me that night in Hogsmeade! Do you have any idea what one discouraging word from the almighty Harry Potter can do to a man’s career? Not to mention your repeated ungracious reviews of my work, damaging my reputation monthly.” He was spitting with fury now, appearing completely derailed. Hermione could feel her stomach rolling with anxiety, just as adrenaline began pouring into her system. During her time with Grelodden, she had never seen him act in such a way. True, he had never been a particularly nice person, but he had certainly never been this irate. 

“Henry,” she began softly, stepping around Severus with a hand raised in supplication, attempting to quell him. “I can talk to the Minister…”

His enraged, deranged eyes settled on her. “You will pay,” he roared. “You will both pay!” He hurled a hex at her, and she blocked it deftly, her eyes wide with shock. Grelodden glowered at her, and lifted his wand toward her once more.

Severus edged in front of her again, and though she could not see the look on her lover’s face, she could feel his wrath radiating off of him; even when not directed at her, it was terrifying. The dread on Grelodden’s face only affirmed her thoughts. 

“Now you will be the one to pay,” Severus snarled. He aimed his wand at Grelodden, and a wild duel began between Severus and Grelodden and the Death Eaters that had accompanied him. 

Hermione spun around and barely deflected the curses from the Death Eaters behind them. She and Severus fought back to back, diverting hexes to the side and nimbly blocking them altogether. With a swift and punctured flick of her wand, she sent all three of the Death Eaters aiming at her to the ground. She whirled and grabbed Severus’ arm, waiting until the precise moment he’d landed a jinx on Grelodden before Apparating them away with a hasty _crack_. 

They appeared before the white marbled steps leading to the Luxembourg Grand Wizarding Resort, and quickly ascended them, both Hermione and Severus panting heavily. With one mind, they retreated straight to their suite, Hermione’s hand still gripping his arm tightly.

“Bloody hell,” she breathed uncharacteristically, collapsing onto the large bed after Severus had shut the door behind them. 

Severus slumped into the large wingback chair in the corner of the room. “You know how to pick them, don’t you?” he asked caustically.

She shot him a displeased glare. “I resent that,” she retorted pointedly. She pushed herself up to perch on the end of the bed and considered him, her brow wrinkled in worry for him. “Are you alright?”

He raised an arrogant dark brow. “Of course I am. His dueling skills are even worse than his writing ability.” He pushed his inky black hair back from his face and gifted her with a tight smirk. “Come here,” he commanded, opening his arms just fractionally. 

Hermione slid off the bed and went to him, settling into his lap and curling her arms around his neck. 

“Death Eaters, Severus,” she murmured, fitting her head just underneath his chin and breathing deeply. “How are we still dealing with Death Eaters, after all this time?”

Severus stroked a hand down her frizzy curls, tangled from the tumultuous evening. “There will always be fanatics,” he told her, seemingly unconcerned. 

Ever the control freak, and spurred on by his inaction, Hermione announced authoritatively, “Harry needs to know about this.” She lifted her head from his shoulder and held up her wand. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” The silvery shape of her otter Patronus formed in front of them, and she watched it whizz around excitedly before directing it to find Harry and deliver the message that she and Severus had been attacked by Grelodden and an assortment of unknown Death Eaters.

“There,” she said tiredly. “I would think Harry can be here by the morning with a few Aurors. Surely we’re safe here until then?” she asked Severus, her thumb rubbing distractedly over the nape of his neck.

He grunted in what she assumed to be agreement. She nestled herself into the curve of his body once more, the myriad events of the day catching up with her. It had been a long time since she had been in an actual fight. Despite being the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, she wasn’t keen on dueling; however, Severus fighting at her back had given her a kind of confidence boost she’d never experienced before. In its own way, it had been exhilarating. She was thankful they were safe, though, and she had no desire to repeat any of it. 

As the adrenaline left her body, she let herself succumb to the drowsy feeling that washed over her. Nowhere was safer than in the arms of Severus Snape.

* * *

He had endangered her. All of this time, he had known that he would end up hurting her one day; that he should cut his ties to her before he drove her away, completely irreparable. Ironic that it was a physical obstacle from his past to put her in harm’s way, rather than himself. 

Severus glared into the darkness of the room, his hand still slowly smoothing over Hermione’s back, cradling her in his arms like the most precious treasure that she was. He should have known. How many times had he tried to warn himself that their contentment was fleeting? He would never allow her to be hurt because of him; it was unacceptable, and it was within his power to change it. 

Grelodden might be sour at the pair of them, but the Death Eaters would be mollified to just have Severus, the turncoat who got away. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the witch in his lap, trying to memorize the smell of her perfume, the surprisingly soft, silky feel of her bushy hair. 

He would lead them away from her. He would face the remnants of his past resolutely. There was no other option. 

He carefully rose from the chair, lifting her in his arms, and carried her to the bed where he tenderly set her down. A wave of his hand urged the covers over her sleeping form. He caressed her cheek, his heart constricting at the thought of never seeing her again. No, he would not allow himself to think that way. He would deal with these nuisances, and he would return to her - even if only to break it off with her rationally, to protect her from further harm. He would not stand for her association with him to put her in harm’s way. 

Jaw tight, he whispered for the first time, “I love you, Hermione.” Then, standing straight, with one last agonising look at her, he left the room.


	12. Learn To Fly

* * *

A hand touched her shoulder, and she jumped, startled out of her dread-filled reverie.

“Hermione,” Harry said softly. She shuddered at the tone of his voice. She knew he was about to give her bad news; he always used that tone when he was about to tell her something she had no desire to hear. She knew she was nowhere near ready to face whatever he was going to say to her. “There is no trace of him, or of any dark magic.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out of the window but not really seeing anything beyond it. Waking up alone had been disorienting enough; but to then discover that Severus was gone - no note, no indication of anything whatsoever - had her feeling numb. Despite the scowls he displayed when people referred to him as a hero, he had truly gone off and acted like one, damn him. She didn’t need a hero; she needed him there with her, facing these things together. She felt betrayed, hopeless, and at a complete loss. 

Harry knelt beside her, his arm wrapping around her back and pulling her in close. She remained stiff against him. “He’s more than capable of taking them on, we both know that. This is the same man who looked Voldemort in the eye and lied to him for years. I think he can handle a couple of disgruntled fanatics.”

Hermione shook her head, swallowing thickly, willing her tears not to fall. “He couldn’t have known how many of them there truly are. Grelodden has become unhinged, Harry. He could have a whole army behind him now.” She drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin on top of them. “I wish he would have just let the Aurors handle it.”

“He’s not that kind of man, Hermione. He has never been one to sit idly by; he always has a better solution,” Harry said, teasingly disgruntled. When she didn’t respond to his light tone, and more of her tears fell rapidly down her face, he rubbed her back in a soothing, comforting manner. “I will keep searching,” Harry vowed to her solemnly. 

She made no reply. She couldn’t. Desperate sobs were clawing at her throat, but she couldn’t bear to let them escape. She hated feeling helpless, after so many months of promising recovery. To be on the edge of a breakdown, just from Severus leaving her alone, made her ashamed of herself.

Harry lifted her hair over her shoulder, and offered her a handkerchief. “Let’s get you back to Hogwarts. After that, I promise you, I will find Snape and bring him back to you.”

She didn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear anything. She stared ahead blankly, trying and failing to make sense of it all. 

She hadn’t even had a chance to tell him she loved him.

* * *

“Hermione, dear,” Minerva called, tapping on her door lightly. “May I come in?”

She didn’t respond. She hadn’t responded in days, ever since she returned from the symposium. Minerva entered anyway, sweeping in and waving her wand around to Vanish the still-full dishes the house elves had brought. The older woman appeared in the bedroom doorway, her features displaying a hefty amount of concern. 

“Hermione,” Minerva began, as she sat beside her on the bed. “Classes begin tomorrow.” 

Classes. She hadn’t even prepared for them. Of what importance were classes, when Severus was still missing? Her best friend, her lover, her confidant… gone in a blink, and she was left floundering, doubting everything. Doubting their relationship, if he could just leave her in such a manner. Doubting her own strength, if she couldn’t manage to dig her way out of her wallowing. Doubting if he had even made it out alive, taking on a fanatical group of evil wizards. Her mind was an utter mess, and Minerva wanted her to think about classes?

“What of Potions?” she asked the Headmistress dispiritedly, her voice cracking. 

Minerva took hold of her hand and squeezed. Hermione did not return the action. 

“I have contacted Horace Slughorn-”

“You would replace him, just like that?!” Hermione screeched, jolting upright on her bed and glowering at her boss.

Minerva pursed her lips, as if she were resisting the urge to put Hermione in her place. She raised her chin. “If you would let me finish,” she admonished Hermione, her gaze direct. “I have requested Horace to act as a substitute until Severus returns.” She leaned forward to cup Hermione’s cheek as a large tear rolled down the pale surface of her skin. “He will return, Hermione.”

Hermione turned from her and sank back down onto her pillows, holding one tightly to her chest. She felt Minerva shift, and then sigh. Once upon a time, Hermione would have cut off one of her limbs rather than disappoint Minerva or any of her superiors. Currently, she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

“Do I need to summon a substitute for you, as well?” Minerva asked her bleakly. 

“No,” Hermione replied lamely. “I will pull myself together.”

Minerva rose from the bed. “See that you do.” As she approached the door, she turned and let her eyes travel over Hermione’s form, curled into a fetal position on the bed. “He worked hard to bring you back,” she said in a soft, yet no-nonsense tone. “I’m sure he would be very disappointed upon his return to see you right back where you started.”

Hermione closed her eyes against the onslaught of tears. What did she care? He had left her. Why should she care that he would be dissatisfied to see such a regression? 

“Damn you, Severus Snape,” Hermione whispered, as rain began to patter against her window. 

* * *

Hermione trudged into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and barely met the gazes of her students. This early morning Gryffindor-Slytherin third-year slot was usually her favorite, but she could hardly muster any kind of excitement - and she hated herself for it. She could feel their enthusiastic eyes on her, but she kept her head bowed in abjection as she set her books upon her desk.

Turning to the chalkboard, she scribbled the lesson plans for the day upon it, and then slumped into her chair behind her desk. “Page 594. Read the chapter then discuss amongst yourselves.” 

There was discontented murmuring amongst the students.

“But Professor Granger, you said before the break that you and Professor Snape would show us a proper duel on our first day back,” a Slytherin student by the name of Imelda Adley reminded her eagerly.

Her head snapped up, eyes ablaze. “Professor Snape is gone,” she bit out, angry at the tears she could feel forming in her eyes. “Ten points from Slytherin for your insolence. Do as I say and read the text.”

Shocked, all of the students stared at their usually spirited and kind professor with stunned eyes. Hermione bent her head over her desk again, pretending to scan the books in front of her. She was disgusted with herself and galled as all bloody hell that, because of his ridiculously brash actions, Severus was not there to help her fulfill her promise to her students. The sight of poor Imelda Adley’s crestfallen face would no doubt haunt Hermione; Imelda was one of the sweetest, most endearing children she had ever met, a Slytherin who had been a good influence on several of her peers. Hermione hardly ever took points away. The girl hadn’t deserved that.

Fidgeting uncomfortably at her desk, Hermione glared down into her book. How could he do this to her? How could he not be there for her when she needed him? Before the incident, she had been a strong, independent woman and everyone had relied on her. She had never needed anyone before, and that blasted man had swooped in like the great bat he was and changed everything. He had become her partner, the one whom she relied upon above all others. If it was just her needs he fulfilled, that would be one thing; but she was completely and utterly head over heels for him and her heart was breaking every single day that he remained absent. She belitted herself for never having told him she loved him. Perhaps it would have made a difference.


	13. Learn To Live

* * *

“Excellent, Miss Adley. Ten points to Slytherin.” The girl didn’t smile at her as she normally would have, and Hermione winced inwardly, deeply regretting that she had been so cruel at the beginning of the week. She would endeavor to win back the favour of this class much as she could. 

“Class dismissed then,” she managed to say brightly, tucking her wand into her robes. “Don’t forget your essays, due Monday morning.” 

Ever since her outburst at her student, Hermione had done exactly as she had promised Minerva and pulled herself together. Her students didn’t deserve to suffer along with her. She put on her brave face during the day, and in the evenings she sat in front of a fire in her quarters, staring at the flames and trying to convince herself that all was not lost. 

It had been a week and a half, and Harry hadn’t sent any word to her, despite the fact that she had been owling him insistently. She switched between feeling angry, and then numb, and then just miserable as she curled up in bed alone. Even Crookshanks seemed to be missing the dark wizard who had so regularly shared her quarters, meowing about in the evenings in a forlorn way that made her heart break just a little bit more. 

She hadn’t been eating much, much to Minerva’s frustration, but it was more of a subconscious lapse, as her stomach seemed to be in severe knots most of the time. Madam Pomfrey had offered soothing potions, but she didn’t want to be lulled into a false sense of calm - that everything was all right, when it clearly wasn’t. Despite her lack of appetite, she attended the meals, knowing if she didn’t that Minerva would be on her in a flash. She had been heavily battling against the urge to reclude to her quarters as much as possible.

In that vein, she had taken to strolling along outside with a book after lunch, since she had a free period from teaching and was trying to avoid a retreat to her private rooms. The sun was high and bright, and she did have to admit the warmth of it on her skin felt lovely. The happy chatter of the students surrounded her as she lolled along the side of the courtyard. 

Her thoughts were beginning to cut into her reading, when all at once a thunderous crack boomed from outside the gates, and a large commotion began. Slytherins en masse had gathered and shouts of, “He’s back!” could be heard excitedly ringing out. Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she rose on her tiptoes to see over the crowd of students.

Severus was striding up the hill from the Apparition point, Harry behind him. The wind whipped their robes around, and Severus’ dark hair shrouded his face. 

Her heart began beating in double-time. “Excuse me,” she said repeatedly as she struggled through the crowd.

Imelda Adley was at the front of the throng of students, and she looked up as Hermione arrived next to her. “He’s back, Professor Granger,” she informed Hermione eagerly.

Emotions washed over Hermione, fighting for dominance within her. Relief was stinging in the form of tears, threatening to fall from her tired eyes at any moment. Hermione set her jaw and strode toward them purposefully. 

She met Severus halfway down the hill; Harry had trailed behind quite a ways, and his face showed hesitance. Severus’ face was unreadable as they stared at each other for endless moments. She could see no signs of harm on him; he looked fit as a fiddle.

“Hermione,” he said, his deep voice wrapping her name in a decadent caress.

Before she was even aware of what she was doing, she slapped him hard across the face. His head turned to the side from the impact. She could feel her hair frizzle with magic, driven wild by her emotions.

He faced her once more, and his obsidian eyes blazed at her, but it was not in anger. There was so much depth to his gaze that she began to sob, throwing her arms around his neck in a vice grip, clutching him to her as tightly as possible.

“How could you, you daft arsehole, how could you?” Her tears fell into the dark strands of his hair, and his strong arms wrapped around her tightly. His nose buried into her wild mane.

“Hermione, my lovely witch,” he breathed against her ear. “I had to protect you, you know that I could never let harm come to you,” he tried to explain to her, squeezing her body solidly to his.

She pulled back from him, her hands cupping his face as the words she had been dying to say to him fell from her lips between sobs. “You can’t just leave me like that, Severus, you can’t…” She pushed his hair back as the wind whipped at the black strands. “I need you, I do, but I don’t just need you, Severus. I love you.” Her eyes entreated him to understand her. “I love you.”

She felt his jaw clench beneath her hands, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest. She had been so desperate to say the words to him if she ever saw him again, that she had never really considered whether or not he would want such words from her. 

“I endangered you,” he told her gravely, his hands folding over hers on his cheeks. “I cannot allow you to become a target, simply because you are at my side.” His face had become a stoic iron wall again, and he pulled her hands down and stepped back from her.

Hermione shivered as the wind hit her body. If she thought she had been hurting before, the ache was so much worse now. He had returned, alive and safe, and he wanted to end their relationship, out of some botched sense of duty?

She fisted her hands at her side. “Did you hear me, you stubborn git?” She stood tall despite the flash of anger she saw in his dark eyes. “I love you, and I don’t care what dangers I may have to face. I want to face it all with you, Severus. Together.” She wasn’t sure her heart could take much more, but she had finally said all she needed to say, and her sobs had thankfully died down as well. 

Severus stared at her in disbelief, his heart constricting at her tear-stained face and the darkness beneath her eyes. He doubted she had seen much sleep, much less a whole meal. He cursed inwardly. _Because of him._ And yet, he would be in much the same state, if she had disappeared to face an unknown threat. Harry bloody Potter had already deftly chastised him for going off alone, but he still felt rather sour about his poor decision. Hermione deserved better than that. She deserved better than him. 

But he knew his witch, and once Hermione had set her mind on something, it was done. His lips turned up at the corners in a sardonic smirk. She loved him. How he had ached to hear those words from her lovely lips, and return them for the first time in his life knowing he was safe to do so; that she would not reject him, or change her mind, or give up on him. She was a determined woman and she had fallen for him. 

“You’re a nutter. You know that, don’t you?” He grinned at her.

He found his breath stopped in his throat as the brightest smile she’d ever gifted him spread across her beloved face. “Takes one to know one.” 

He opened his arms and she leapt into them once more, and he swore in that moment to never act like a hero again. 


	14. And Love So Free

* * *

The students couldn’t keep their eyes off them as they whispered across the tables. Most of the school had seen the exchange outside of the gates. As they had approached, Minerva had been waiting, an indulgent smile on her face at the sight of Severus and Hermione striding up hand-in-hand. Knowing he was surely uncomfortable, Hermione had tried to distance herself from him, but at the feel of her hand slipping out of his, Severus had clutched it tightly and sent her an arch look. 

Now, at dinner, struggling after necessity had pulled them apart and back to their classes, Hermione had her hand on Severus’ leg beneath the head table, and he was shifting anxiously in his seat. 

“Remember the last time you teased me, witch,” he warned, for her ears only, his lips barely moving.

Her answering wicked grin sent a jolt straight to his crotch. It was murder to make it through the rest of the meal.

As the hall finally emptied and the students began to retire for the evening, they stood at the head table, saying their farewells to Harry.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered against Harry’s ear as she hugged him tightly. “Thank you for being there.”

He kissed her cheek. “It was long overdue. I’m just glad I found him.” He glanced behind her to Severus. “Still impressed by those wandless spells, Sir.” 

Severus nodded and shook Harry’s hand, and Hermione felt a strange happiness blossom in her chest at the sight of it. 

She and Severus bid Minerva goodnight and began the long walk to Hermione’s quarters, arm-in-arm.

“What I don’t understand is why he wouldn’t just owl me, or send his Patronus,” Hermione reasoned, glancing up with a puzzled look at Severus. “Anything to stop my worry.”

Severus pursed his lips. “That was my doing,” he confessed. “I had managed to finally fell them all, but it was after several rounds of torture.” He winced at her pained expression. “I didn’t want you to see me in such a state. I would not let him make contact with you, after he found me still hanging there.”

In as little detail as possible, he tried to recount the events of the past week. After finding Grelodden and his ragtag group of bitter Death Eaters, they’d overpowered him and strung him up in a cell in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Europe. After reserving most of his energy, he’d expended near all of his magic to wandlessly inhibit his captors. Hours later, Harry had arrived with his fellow Aurors and rounded up the criminals. He never thought he’d be so happy to see Harry Potter, and he was surprised to find himself not much bothered at being indebted to the young wizard; he had, after all, returned Severus to Hermione.

“Okay,” Hermione allowed, “but even as you were leaving St. Mungo’s, no word?” She sent him a displeased look. “I wish I could be mad at you for a little longer, but I’m just so relieved you are safe and back here with me. Gods, I never want to go through that again.”

They arrived at her door, and she lowered the wards so that they could enter. After resetting them, she turned and clutched at the front of his robes. “Promise me, Severus. Promise me you won’t put me through that again.”

He wrapped his arms around her, his head dipping so that he could brush his lips softly over hers. “I promise, my lovely witch.” 

A loud purr sounded moments before Crookshanks began wrapping around his legs. Severus smirked down at the squashed face of the half-Kneazle. “Missed you too, old friend,” he murmured, kneeling down and stroking behind the feline’s raggedy ears. Crookshanks leaned in to the touch, then padded away softly, his bottlebrush tail twitching in delight.

“He didn’t miss you as much as I did,” Hermione said, and her fingers played along Severus’ shoulder, then stroked into his hair. 

He gazed up at her from his kneeling position, and the hungry look in her eyes rapidly heated his blood. His hands clasped around her ankles, and then he began a long, slow ascent up her legs, edging under the dress beneath her robes. He blinked languidly as he watched her face flush. 

“Shall I make it up to you?” he asked her, sliding her dress up her legs, smirking when he saw her breath hitch in her throat. 

Hermione held fast to his shoulders as she became lightheaded. “You’d better,” she managed to reply, voice hoarse.

His low rumble of laughter sent heat coursing through her. His lips pressed to the flesh above her knee, and then he turned his head and kissed the opposite leg just a bit higher, and he alternated as he inched higher still, his hot breath finding her inner thighs and causing her to quake in anticipation.

“Mmm,” he sighed against her knickers, his nose nuzzling her mons through the thin fabric. His nimble fingers curved around the waistband and rolled them down her hips.

“Oh!” she gasped, the brush of his lips on her heated flesh sending her close to delirium. She clutched at his shoulders. “Severus… bedroom…”

He ignored her and lifted one of her legs, and settled her thigh to rest on his shoulder. His arm clamped under her other leg, holding her steady as he leaned forward and slipped his tongue between her folds. 

Her hands curled into his hair, her back arching. “I need you,” she told him on a moan, swaying against him as his lips closed around her clit.

He drew back and looked up the length of her body, his dark eyes so ravenous she felt her cheeks flush. “I believe there is something else I would like to hear from you, Hermione,” he informed her, before he nuzzled his way back between her damp folds and found her clit once more. His teeth lightly skimmed, causing her to cry out and fall forward.

Severus held tightly to her as she fell to her knees before him. She grasped at his robes and began to tear through them, desperate to feel his skin beneath her hands. 

“I love you,” she told him, her eyes meeting his as she unbuttoned his trousers. 

The words filled him with euphoria, a wholly unfamiliar feeling. He drank in the sight of her, all flushed skin and wild hair and bright, shining eyes, and he felt his control slide away from him. He murmured a hurried _Divesto_ as he pulled her forward, his hands spreading her thighs as he pulled her onto his lap to straddle him. Her bare skin met his, and they groaned in tandem.

Hermione reached between them and began to guide the solid length of him into her. He grasped her hips as she sank down upon him, her head falling back in ecstacy. She began to ride him ever so slowly, her breasts swaying before him temptingly. He steadied her with a hand at her lower back, and bent forward to capture one of her rosy nipples into his mouth, teasing the hardened peak with his tongue. 

“You are everything,” he whispered against her skin, pressing hot kisses to the valley between her breasts, relishing in the feel of her hands clenching in his hair, of her white hot heat wrapping his cock in a vice grip. He nipped the smooth skin of her neck before seizing her lips in a fevered kiss.

Her arms twined around his neck and she began gyrating atop him in earnest, her gasps of pleasure growing in frequency.

“Look at me,” he growled, one of his hands twisting into her hair.

With effort, her glazed eyes focused on him, and she smiled brilliantly at him.

“I love you,” he told her, and met her thrust with one of his own, causing her to cry out as he hit her most sensitive spot. He brought her hips down again, and again, rocking into her firmly. They clung to one another, the urgency of their lovemaking consuming them, as if they would lose each other again any second. “Come for me, love,” he compelled her, feeling his own release swiftly approaching. 

Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes at the delicious pleasure he brought her, using the leverage of his kneeling position to angle deeper and deeper into her, sliding against her g-spot insistently each time. Her body began to shake as she was pushed over the edge, calling his name as her orgasm pulsed through her body. Her head fell to his shoulder as he spilled his seed inside her, groaning against her ear.

She could feel his poor legs about to give out, and she began to try to rise, but he held her firmly atop him, his nose nuzzling into her hair.

“I should have told you a long time ago,” he murmured against her neck.

Hermione’s heart swelled. “I should have, as well,” she whispered. “All I could think

while you were gone was that I missed the chance to tell you I love you.” She drew back, searching his face. “I’m afraid you’ll grow tired of it quickly, because I will be telling you all of the time.”

Severus smiled, and it lit his dark eyes in a way that stole her breath. “I’m sure I won’t mind,” he assured her. 

“You deserve to hear it, and often.” Her fingers toyed with the ends of his hair, her gaze never leaving his. Her heart was so full she felt she would burst. “I was so broken, Severus. And you… You put all of the pieces back together.” She gave him a soft, sweet kiss, lingering against his lips as she whispered, “Thank you.” 


End file.
